Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

There is something extraordinary about space, something Midoriya Izuku has never truly been able to put into words. 

He’s loved the stars since before he knew what they were called, and- more often than not- he could be found gazing at the night sky in wonder and awe. “He gets it from his father.” He’s heard it a thousand times. 

He doesn’t remember much about his father, but what he can recall is always depicted in vivid detail when he closes his eyes. In one such memory, he and his father were sitting on the roof, having climbed out through a window in the middle of the night. It was dark, and they leaned back on their palms to stare at the night sky, only a few stars visible past the city lights. It was a little chilly, and Izuku remembers curling underneath his father’s heavy arm. “There’s a reason we love the stars so much, y’know,” his father had said, leaning down to whisper in Izuku’s ear. Izuku had looked up curiously, a tilt of his head urging his father to continue. His father turned to face Izuku, now inspecting his face intently, one large palm cupping Izuku’s cheek. “There’s stardust in our skin, Nahn, that’s why we have these freckles. The stars call to us because they want us to come home.”

Izuku’s father talked about “home” a lot. Either in relation to Izuku’s mother, or to the mysteries of the universe, he was always talking about home. In the end, he had to pick one. His mother has told Izuku the story a million times, savoring each word of her own tale. When Izuku was born, his father gave up the stars to be with his family. He gave up the dangers of an exploration for the dangers of a blazing fire. Sometimes, at night, when he’s alone with his thoughts in the darkness of his room, Izuku would wonder why he couldn’t have just settled down. Why he didn’t try harder to fight the addiction of an adrenaline rush. Maybe, if he had, they would have at least had a body to bury. 

Izuku was never sure if he believed that, at least not wholeheartedly. His mother certainly did. He could see it in her eyes when she caught him looking at the sky. When he stared at a ship model for a moment too long. She always looked at him with those sad, sad eyes, and he would wonder. He wondered if it was because of his father’s memory or Izuku’s future. Fear is powerful. Dangerous. She allowed it to consume them both. Despite always encouraging Izuku to follow his dreams, her unease became a crushing vice, never releasing its hold. Casting upon him like an ever-reaching shadow.

But Izuku had never been good at playing it safe, and even a mother’s wise words of warning could not stop him from chasing the stars. And without any real support, he was left to carve his own path. Instead of playing with friends, he was in his room studying, scouring the internet and pouring over textbooks. For years, he spent his time locked indoors. Hoping for just the chance to make it into Kuiper High, one of the top space cadet preparatory academies in Japan. Then, from there, it was onto Rosette University, which is named after a famous nebula and has one of the best space cadet programs in the entire world. 

It would have set him up for a life of exploring past the boundaries of the Solar System. It would have guaranteed a straight shot at following in his father’s footsteps. But he never made it to Rosette University. In fact, he never even finished his first year at Kuiper High. So, as his brain begins to register his surroundings, he wonders how he got himself into this mess in the first place. 

The first thing he registers as he wakes up is his throbbing head. It beats harshly, a drum behind his eyes. The second thing he registers is the ground below him. It is hard and rough, scratching at his skin as he shifts. A moment after the realization that he is- very clearly- not in his bed is when the panic begins to set in. Despite the pounding in his head that attempts to lull him back to sleep, he shoots upright into a sitting position, snapping his eyes open. He immediately regrets it, though, squeezing his eyes shut again and bringing his hands up to rub at his face in an attempt to block out the harsh lights assaulting his vision. 

Slowly this time, Izuku opens his eyes, desperate for a glimpse of his surroundings. The sight that greets him is not a comforting one, and the unfamiliar environment does nothing to quell the panic rising in his chest. 

He is in a cell, that much is obvious. Thick bars made of some kind of metal stretch from the ceiling to the floor on all sides, and nothing decorates the barren space but a strange looking container full of what he assumes is water. The door to the cage- because that is where he is, he’s been caged up like an animal- is directly in front of him, towering over him and reaching all the way to the ceiling. A rim of the same type of metal surrounds the door and covers the hinges, protecting them from tampering. Damn it. 

Izuku climbs to his feet, taking it slow as his vision blurs from the movement. He looks around, trying to get a sense of what is beyond the bars. There are adjacent cages to the left and right, though the one to the right draws his attention. He is not alone. He backs up toward the left side of his cage, as the only occupied cell is now in front of him. He narrows his eyes, trying to see the inhabitants despite the blurriness that he has not yet managed to escape. There are seven creatures in the cell, though their races vary greatly. 

Izuku knows aliens are real; Earth has encountered them before. It’s what prompted the second Great Space Race, so he knows that these creatures, whoever and whatever they are, aren’t just strange animals. Even so, seeing an alien in person for the first time is terrifying. Terrifying, yet somehow simultaneously fascinating. Alien races no longer venture past the Kuiper belt unless it’s to meet with the Ambassadors, the people chosen to establish and maintain contact. 

The one standing closest to him is akin to a panther, though they are larger and have three tails. Another long appendage wraps around their neck. It is pale gray and pointed on one end, probably some kind of weapon. Something he’ll need to keep an eye on. This creature seems to be some kind of protector; they stand in front of the others, using their tails to obscure his view of the majority of their bodies. They watch him warily with eyes that hold a promise of violence. Izuku tenses his muscles, but with the bars of the cage separating them, he knows that the feline can’t reach him. 

He forces his gaze away from the panther-like alien, inspecting the other creatures in the cell. To the left of the panther, a large bird-like creature stands in a tensed position, wings spread wide and the hand-like appendages on the ends spread out into a claw. Instead of a beak, like Izuku would expect from an avian race, they have a cat-like muzzle and vertical split eyes. Wrapped over their hips and hanging between their legs are layers upon layers of what look like light weight golden chains, probably the race’s equivalent of clothing. Unlike the panther, who stands in a defensive pose, this creature looks ready to attack at any moment. He isn’t sure how they would get to him through the bars, but the clear confidence in their own abilities does nothing to help his anxiety. 

Standing directly behind the panther are four- no, five- other creatures, huddled into the corner with the biggest three standing in front of the smaller ones. Two of them are lizard-like, but are clearly different species. One looks humanoid, with small red and orange scales instead of skin. Larger, sharper scales run from their forehead down to their shoulders, almost mocking human hair. They wear a dark red, nearly black, fitted garment with a turtleneck and some material of flexible armor over their shoulders, strapped across their body. Their pants are a little baggy and made out of thick bands woven through each other. The other is split down the middle, so cleanly that two races could have been cut in half and sewn back together. One side is a deep, dark red, while the other side is snow white, scales on both sides that look to be barely as long as Izuku’s thumb. This one wears a garment on their lower body, the color resembling a tawny orange, that is, again, akin to pants. The legs of the garment are very loose and baggy at the top, but, at what must be the knees, they become tight and fitted. 

A clicking noise draws his attention to the right of the half and half creature. His breath catches in his throat for a moment when his eyes land on the bug-like alien. Izuku cringes at the sight of them. They stand taller than Izuku, probably over six feet, yet their height is in between the two lizard-like ones. They are humanoid, with two arms and two legs, but their knees are backwards, like a praying mantis, with protrusions on the back of their legs. Two big, black eyes glare at him from either side of their head and short pincers, the cause of the clicking noise, twitch around their mouth. Izuku nearly shivers at the sight of them, but logic prevents himself from showing any weakness. He tears his eyes away to look at the two small creatures he can see behind the bug alien’s legs. 

The creature to the left draws his attention first. They, strangely enough, closely resemble the visuals of the Oriri’vry from First Contact, the first alien race to venture past the Kuiper Belt and make contact with humans. They didn’t look like anything I’ve ever seen, Nahn, he remembers his father telling him. I couldn’t get a good look, but the drawings have never captured their beauty. Having finally seen one in person, he couldn't agree more. 

He takes a moment to scan them, noting that while, yes, the drawings were close, there was something off about them. The Oriri’vry has four arms, unlike the two arms from the drawings, with two torsos to match, though the upper set of arms is much shorter than the first, with the arms stacked close together. Along the top of their arms and down their sides is a peach color, which fades into a pale blue towards their abdomen. On the lower half of their body they wear dark blue, wide-legged, loose fitting pants, which have a cutout for their long, thin, sleek tail. He can’t see their legs below the garment, but the appendages look like they bend forwards, then backwards, similar to the structure of deer legs. 

The final alien, he notes with amusement, reminds him of a jack rabbit. Instead of ears, they have two long antennas on their heads, and a steady stream of electricity flows between them, occasionally crackling as a spark comes loose from the stream. They have thick gold and black fur covering their whole body, and claws on the end of their paws that look sharp enough to cut the air itself. They, too, are bipedal, with two short, stubby legs supporting them and two appendages resembling arms twitching at their sides. While the other aliens stand still, seemingly in apprehension, this one jumps from paw to paw. With every time they make contact with the ground, the electricity above their head brightens and dims respectively. 

He studies the group nervously, straightening his posture. He can feel their eyes on him. Searching. Scanning. Trying to find weaknesses. He feels like prey, like he’s been put under a magnifying glass, but he knows that isn’t true. He doesn’t know much about space, but he does know that humans are new. Though he doesn’t know what, he has advantages that these creatures do not have, and they are scared of him for it. Their body language, protective, defensive, or fearful, is proof enough. 

However, any kind of scared, cornered creature can be dangerous. Very dangerous. 

His best and safest way out of this will be to make himself less of a threat. Show them that he means no harm, so they don’t have to attack. Then, and only then, will they back down. Probably. Maybe. Hopefully. 

Izuku takes a slow, deep breath and steps backwards, forcing his body to relax against the bars of the empty cell behind him. He doesn’t know what actions will set them off, so he treats them like wild animals and slowly eases himself to the floor, attempting to make himself seem smaller. He wants to take his eyes off them, show that his attention is not solely on them, but he can’t. As much as he knows it will help, he can’t willingly look away, knowing they could attack the second his back is turned. 

While he would normally try to downplay his anxiety, knowing that it is not as bad or scary as his brain makes it seem, he can’t do that this time. In front of him stand seven very real aliens, only one of which is vaguely familiar to him. He has no idea what their behaviors are and if they really do see him as a threat. The drawings of the Oriri’vry were off, so who’s to say that everything else he learned is correct? He’s not willing to take that risk. So, while he relaxes his body and steadies his breathing, making himself smaller, he refuses to look away from the group. 

His eyes dart between the creatures, snagging on the smallest of movements. Everytime his eyes linger for more than a moment on any of the creatures crowded in the corner, the bird and cat aliens become more and more irritated. He tries to keep from staring, but when a small spark jumps from the rabbit’s antenna, he can’t help but look. A loud Squawk! from the bird draws his attention. They step forward, further in front of the others, their wings flaring out even more. His breath catches in his throat, and, panicked, Izuku tries to recall every little bit of Common he can remember from online searches, which, admittedly, isn’t a lot. 

“No fight! No fight!” The words feel awkward to say, the sounds unlike Japanese or English, the only two languages he’s fluent in. They come out sounding thicker, deeper, and too elongated compared to the few available recordings of Common accessible to the public. Nonetheless, they seem to do the job. The bird stops, staring at him in what could be shock, their wings lowering slightly from their threatening pose. 

The bird opens their cat-like muzzle, letting out a series of noises. They are clearly trying to speak to Izuku, but all he can catch are the words “fight” and what he now remembers to be “want.” 

“Wait, no! I don’t want-” He cuts himself off mid sentence, switching from Japanese to Common. As he realizes that the aliens all simultaneously took a step back at his volume, he lowers his voice to a near whisper. “ No want fight.” The words Izuku speaks compared to how they sounded when the bird spoke almost sound like two entirely different languages. He repeats himself one more time, desperately trying to make sure his message gets across. “No want fight.”

There is a stillness in the cells as no one speaks or moves, and all Izuku can hear is the pounding of his heartbeat in his ears. He’s tense in his mock relaxed position, waiting for the aliens to make a move. 

Finally, the bird speaks again. “No fight,”  they say, before slowly lowering their wings, relaxing out of their attack pose. Izuku breathes a sigh of relief, but he doesn’t release the tension in his muscles until the bird backs away, using one of their wings to pull the cat back with them. It’s a slow process, but, eventually, all of the aliens are huddled into the corner, and the bird is the first one to settle into a seated position. 

When none of the others show any intentions of moving, the bird whispers something, tone coming off harsh and clipped. After another moment, the others begin to shuffle, sitting down one by one. The cat is the last one to sit down, reluctantly, when the bird mutters something short and sharp to them. The cat’s tails are still twisting angrily in the air as they lay down, head cushioned on their crossed paws. And, as much as Izuku wants the group to ignore him, it’s his turn now. 

Taking a deep, relaxing breath, Izuku closes his eyes and slowly lays down, only opening his eyes again to stare up at the metal ceiling of the cell. He tries to shut off the urge to spin back around every time he hears the smallest of noises. After several nerve-wracking seconds, Izuku is rewarded with the sound of quiet whispering from behind him. He can’t understand a word they are saying, but, even if they are talking about him, they are calmer now.  

For a moment, Izuku just listens to the conversation, the sounds of Common flowing so melodically when spoken fluently, the words flowing together, each sound complementing the rest. On Earth, people often say that Italian is the most beautiful language, but Izuku would have to disagree. Common sounds so beautiful to him, lulling him into a half-asleep state.

Izuku is still listening to the others when, abruptly, the lights shut off, plunging the cells into darkness. Izuku bolts upright, blinking quickly in an attempt to make his pupils dilate faster. When the room finally comes into focus, he scans the area. Nothing has changed. No one new is here and he can’t find any immediate threats, though, when he turns to the occupants of the cell on the other side of the bars, he finds them all staring at him again. Nothing happens for a long moment, letting Izuku focus on his breathing, slowing it down from the sudden fast pace it elevated to. 

He furrowed his eyebrows, pondering the possible reasons for the shut off. Maybe this was how they simulated day and night on ships? On the ADSA, the Anchor of Deep Space Affairs Space Station, they simulated Earth hours by slowly dimming and brightening the lights, not shutting them off abruptly. Yet, he can’t think of anything else it could be, as, still, no one has entered and the aliens do not seem to be concerned or even surprised. Izuku settles down, placing his back to the bars. 

Izuku curls himself into a tight ball, bringing his knees to his chest, fighting the urge to cry. He’s who knows how far away from home, alone, with creatures he can’t communicate with, locked in some cage. He squeezes his eyes closed, remembering something his father told him once. Something that has never felt more true than in this moment, as he tries to fall asleep on the cold metal floor.

“In a universe this big, it’s only natural to feel small.” 

Chapter Text

Hi'a'shi, of course, loves his bonded. Since the day he first set eyes on the Era’suur, he knew he stood no chance. Though gruff in nature, he was- and still is- one of the most loving, thoughtful, and caring people Hi'a'shi knows. So, when Sho'a asked Hi'a'shi if he wanted to accompany him on a short demonstration patrol with his class, with the students separated into groups of five, of course he said yes. 

The first three groups were easy, the short patrols coming and going with no issues or accidents. Which, quite frankly, should have been the first sign that something would go wrong eventually. Five students of varying species, trapped in a single ship for a quarter cycle? That always leads to some kind of disaster. It doesn’t seem like a long time for seasoned agents, like Hi'a'shi and Sho'a, but, with a group of younglings, even a half quarter cycle can be an eternity.

Hi'a'shi exhales heavily, pushing himself up from his haunches. He glances around the cell that has become their home for at least a half moon revolution, the melancholy that has been haunting him ever since they were captured descending upon him as he looks at his Bonded once more. When the pirates finally managed to board, Sho'a was both the first and most aggressive attacker. He did his best to defend the students, but, in the end, he paid for it. 

The patrol demo was going smoothly at first, no different from any of the other groups. There was a little tension between Bak'go and To'roki, but that was all. Then, in the blink of an eye, they were surrounded by a small fleet of pirates. Four ships normally wouldn’t cause much of an issue for Hi'a'shi and Sho'a, but, with a group of younglings, their first priority was to get the students to safety. Fighting was not an ideal solution when something could go wrong, however small the likelihood. But the pirates’ ships were small and fast, and, in their large, clunky, basic demo ship, they stood no chance. When one of the pirate ships managed to land a hit on one of their thrusters, they couldn’t even move, let alone escape or fight. 

Left with few options, when their ship was drawn in and connected to the docking bay, he and his Bonded pushed the students back and prepared for a fight. A fight that, though unfortunate, was fairly quick. One of the pirates struck Sho'a with their electrified whip after barely a click, taking Sho'a out of the fight, and Hi'a'shi was no match all alone. Not without risking deafening his Bonded and his students with his species’ scream. 

Hi'a'shi walks forward, his talons click-clack ing on the floor as he steps closer to his Bonded. The injury finally scabbed over a few rotations ago, but it certainly isn’t healed yet. A long gash runs down Sho'a’s side, created by the sharp, arrow-like barb at the end of the whip. It wasn’t deep enough to be fatal, but paired with the electricity, it’s no surprise that Sho'a went down quickly. 

An annoyed voice breaks Hi'a'shi out of his thoughts, drawing his attention to his left, toward the corner of the cell. “So… how the fuck are we going to get out of here?” Bak'go asks from where he leans against the bars in the corner.

To'roki, blandly, replies before Hi'a'shi can. “You’ve already asked that, about 15 times by my count, and the answer has yet to change.” 

“I strongly suggest we do not aggravate our teammates! Please refrain from antagonizing him, To'roki! And Bak'go, please refrain from foul language!” Iida pushes his way into the conversation, standing up from where he was sitting on the floor, his pincers clicking a few times in annoyance. 

“Who’s antagonizing? I’m simply stating a fact.” 

“I’m gonna ‘state’ my claws through your face, Icyhot!”

“That doesn’t make any sense.” 

“Settle down!” Sho'a snaps, barely raising his head to fix the three students with a glare. 

A quiet mumble broke the silence. “Made total sense to me.” 

“Kam'nari!” Sho'a’s head twisted, his glare finding its way to Kam'nari, who squeaks and hides behind Iida’s legs. 

“Can we not do this right now? We’ve gone almost the whole rotation without any fights, and I’m tired of hearing you three bicker. Just wait a few more clicks for lights out and go to sleep,” Ur'aka says, her head dropping to lay on her raised knees. 

Hi'a'shi watches, amused, before finally taking a breath to express his agreement. “Ur'aka’s right, guys-” 

A sudden shush cuts him off, his eyes flicking down to offer his Bonded a questioning tilt of his head. Sho'a meets his eyes, disguised concern barely visible on his face. “I hear people coming this way.” 

Hi'a'shi turns to the hallway, peering through the bars to try to get a glimpse of who, or what, is approaching. He takes a step back when he finally picks up on the noise that first alerted Sho'a to the newcomers. A dragging sound gets louder as they get closer, with several pairs of footsteps thumping against the metal floor, confirming the presence of many guards. Hi'a'shi shares an uneasy look with Sho'a, then they turn to look at the students. “Gather in the corner, all of you,” Sho'a commands, his stern voice leaving no room for objections. The students, without hesitation - for the most part, Hi'a'shi does not acknowledge Bak'go’s frustrated grumbling - do as Sho'a asks. 

It isn’t long before the group comes into view, causing Hi'a'shi’s eyes to widen at the sheer amount of guards that travel with what seems to be a single prisoner. Leading the group is an Oriri’vry, the same species as Ur'aka and the most common of the sentient races. Behind her are the two dragging the prisoner, one of them a large, stocky Firierodu, the other a Njilu. More than the others, the two heavy-lifters drew his attention. It wasn’t uncommon to see a Njilu on a crew, but due to their inability to make the sounds needed to speak common, they tended to keep to themselves. Most didn’t like to lug around translators on their necks, and their long, bulky bodies, paired with stumpy legs, didn’t make them ideal for maneuvering the usually tight quarters of a ship. However, Njilus were strong and fierce, ideal for a crew dealing with potentially dangerous captives. The Firierodu was nothing out of the ordinary, but his presence set Hi'a'shi on edge. Firierdus’ hard plates were nearly impervious to most weapons. If they felt the need to send a Firierdu with whatever they were bringing, it had to be something that could deal some serious damage. 

Hi'a'shi tried to stand taller, wanting to see what species their new company would be, but his view was still blocked. He huffed, pulling his eyes from them and eyeing the second Oriri’vry at the back of the group, walking next to an Elerack, the same species as Kam'nari. Common on pirate ships like this one, with their electricity output acting as an easy shut down of any attempts to escape or fight back. 

Without acknowledging Hi'a'shi, Sho'a, or the students, the front Oriri’vry opens the cell next to theirs, stepping back to allow the Firierodu to toss the newcomer in. The Njilu quickly slams the door shut once the Firierodu steps back, the auto-locking mechanism clicking into place immediately. 

The two Oriri’vry rush out as soon as the door is locked, a communication pad in the first one’s hand. 

A series of hissing and clicking suddenly sound out, followed by a robotic voice translating into Common. “I can’t believe they brought that thing here,” the Njilu - or well, technically their translator - says as the three remaining pirates turn to the door, slowly following after the Oriri’vry. 

“Tell me about it,” The Elerack grumbles. “I’ve been hired for many crews and I’ve been all over, but never has one of those crews tried something so bold.” 

“Personally, I thought they would be bigger and not so,” the Firierodu pauses as if looking for the words. “Fleshy.”

“It looks so docile, I would have thought it was a prey species if not for the front set eyes. Maybe their reputation has been blown out of proportion after all…” the robotic voice of the translator fades as the door to the cell block closes behind the group. 

No one moves for several seconds, uncertainty rippling through the group. Finally, Bak'go breaks the silence. “The fuck did they just bring in here?” Hi'a'shi half expects Iida to reprimand him for his language, but only silence meets his ears. 

“Whatever it is, it doesn’t seem like that big of a threat.” Kam'nari responds after a moment. “It doesn’t even have claws or anything, from what I can see. They mentioned front set eyes, but that’s the only thing pointing toward the idea that it’s not a prey species.”

“Don’t make hasty judgments. We went over this in class, Kam'nari. We never rule out a threat for looks alone,” Sho'a says, narrowing his eyes, having never taken them off of the creature. 

Hi'a'shi nods, agreeing, then takes a breath and steps forward. “I’ll get closer to check it out, everyone stay back just in case.” Sho'a finally tears his eyes away to make eye contact with Hi'a'shi, inclining his head and taking a few steps back. 

Hi'a'shi steels himself, facing toward the bars separating them from the newly occupied cell. The figure is laying on its back from where it was thrown into the cell, its face turned away so Hi'a'shi can’t see what it looks like. It has some type of thick green fur growing from the top of its head, but no visible fur anywhere else. Its lower body is covered in a thick, tough-looking cloth, similar to the pants that Ur'aka, Bak'go, and To'roki wear. Its upper body is covered in a softer black garment with another pale purple cloth underneath. 

Hi'a'shi creeps closer to the bars, trying to get a better look at the finer details. Kam'nari is right, it doesn’t have any claws beyond what look like short, thin, clear shells on the tips of its fingers. Some of the clear shells are jagged and red, though they don’t look sharp, and much too short to do any damage. He tries to see if its back legs have any claws, but they are covered in another thick, sturdy garment that reaches up about halfway to the backwards knee joint. He frowns. Why would this creature want to cover its feet? Wouldn’t that make it hard to run or even walk? 

He stands up taller, trying to see the creature’s face. Maybe it has fangs of some kind? His eyes land on the creature’s features, inspecting them. Something about it is familiar, but he can’t place exactly where he has seen its species before. Its mouth is open slightly, revealing, for the majority, flat teeth. He tilts his head, confused by the combination of teeth types. A grinder and a meat eater, likely, but it doesn’t look like it could do much damage with a bite. Not many species are omnivores, with Firierodu being one of the few. Another detail that is rather confusing are the front set eyes. They aren’t a combination or some kind of in between, they are fully front facing. Not designed for watching for threats, and what could it use to fight off the threats on its planet? 

He can’t think of any planets that have entirely docile species, there is always an apex predator of some kind. Maybe it’s a new planet? Which would mean this is a species on the more newly discovered side. The pirates were so nervous, possibly because of a lack of information? Or maybe- 

Hi'a'shi stumbles back, a gasp falling from his lips. This… is very bad. 

“Hi'a'shi? What’s wrong?” Sho'a called out from behind him, disguised worry drifting in his voice. “What is it?” 

Hi'a'shi backs up another step, not wanting to turn away from the Deathworlder in front of him. “It’s a Terran Deathworlder.” His voice leaves him quieter than he expected, and he swallows, unused to speaking at such a low volume. But it doesn’t matter how quiet he is, Sho'a’s ears are amazing, and he’s sure to hear anyways. 

“It can’t be, all the way out here? What’s a Terran doing so far from its home world?”

“Maybe it’s not far from its home world. Or, perhaps it wasn’t far when it was picked up. We don’t know where the pirates have been, maybe we went to them .” 

“Hah? What the fuck is a Terran?” Bak'go demands, drawing the attention of the two teachers.

“It’s…” Sho'a paused, allowing himself to collect his thoughts. “They were invited to the PAC Corps just a few decades ago, when they started improving their space travel technology. They were making giant leaps so fast, they caught the attention of the Council. They were worried that if they didn’t make contact first, the Terrans would become violent.” 

“Violent? What made them think that would be their first reaction?” Ur'aka cut in, worry evident in her features.

“Well, they didn’t attack any sentient species, if that’s what you are worried about. It’s more about their history and their world,” Hi'a'shi starts to explain. “They’re Deathworlders for the typical reasons: war, a deadly environment, unusual planet conditions.”

“So, like my home planet? Don’t see what’s so fuckin’ special about that.” Bak'go grumbles.

“ Except ,” Sho’a shoots Bak’go an unimpressed look. “On their planet, it’s all scaled up to the point that the council voted it a 9 on the Deathworld Scale.” Sho'a growls back, clearly annoyed at Bak'go’s dismissal of such a dangerous species. Bak’go’s reaction is as explosive as his species tend to be. 

“They’re a fucking what!?”

“I don’t understand, is that a bad thing?” Kam'nari says, their electric stream sparking brightly for a moment. “Bak’go’s a Deathworlder too, so what’s the difference?”

“Bull shit ! My planet has the highest score on the scale, there’s no way that flesh bag scored higher!”

“That is not a good thing, Bak’go,” Iida calls loudly, almost completely drowning out To’roki when he responds bluntly with, “It isn’t the highest possible score, it’s just the highest existing score.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Bak’go growls angrily. 

Hi’a’shi watches Kam'nari look between himself and Bak’go in confusion, accepting that he’s going to have to explain it a little bit more; preferably before Bak’go tries to start a fist fight. “The scale technically goes up to ten, but there’s only ever been one documented sentient species that reached further than a six on the scale. They’re extremely endangered now because the wars between their species ended up destroying both their homeworld and, subsequently, a large chunk of the race at once. The fact that Terrans have been classified as a nine and the planet is still thriving - or at the very least habitable - is, frankly, a miracle.”

“Terrans have evolved and developed inventions to combat their environment and the non-sentient species that live on their planet.” Sho’a opens his muzzle to continue with the impromptu - and probably illegal, if the council has anything to say about it - Species Lesson, but sudden movement from the Terran stops him from getting another word out.

Without warning, the Terran sits up, its eyes opening sharply, pointed towards the back bars. The group freezes, everyone turning to watch as Sho'a and Hi'a'shi shift back to their defensive positions guarding the students. The Terran shuts its eyes, lifting its hands to rub at its eyes. Hi'a'shi and Sho'a are tense as they watch the Terran open its eyes again, slowly standing up on its hind legs. Right- bipedal. He remembers that from the report. 

Hi'a'shi’s feathers fluff up as the Terran looks around and spots them before quickly retreating to the other side of the cell. Its eyes squint until they’re narrow slits, skipping around the group, looking at each of them one by one, and Hi'a'shi tenses under its gaze. He feels scrutinized, stripped bare, as if the Terran is peeling them apart with its eyes alone. 

It sinks back down to the floor, remaining focused on the group, never breaking its gaze. It seems to be making itself smaller. It was almost laughable, so unbelievable that Hi'a'shi wondered if it was some kind of bait it used to lull prey into a false sense of safety on its home planet. It keeps looking behind Hi'a'shi, at the students, and Hi'a'shi lets out a loud and threatening squawk, not loud enough to hurt his Bonded or his students’ ears, but enough to draw the Terran’s attention to himself instead. 

Hi'a'shi steps forward, putting himself in front of the students and flaring his wings out as far as he can. He meets the Terran’s eyes, making sure to show no fear. He can’t show any kind of weakness that the Deathworlder might be able to latch on to, to exploit. 

He tenses, preparing for the worst, when the Terran opens its mouth. It speaks , and not only does it demonstrate the ability to use a complex language structure, it speaks in Common .

“No fight! No fight!” The Terran says, its accent so thick that the words are nearly indecipherable. It’s like a slower and thicker version of the way Kiri'ima speaks, but the basic sounds are, shockingly, nearly identical. 

Hi'a'shi’s wings lower in astonishment at the words, and after a moment of hesitation, he responds. “You don’t want to fight us?” Hi'a'shi asks, unsure of himself. Could this be a fluke? It seems strange that a Deathworlder is asking for peace.

His response only seems to worry the Deathworder further, and sounds shoot from its mouth, rapid-fire and most certainly not any of the known languages, loud enough that it makes Hi'a'shi cringe in sympathy for his Bonded. Again, strangely, its language reminds him of Kiri'ima’s, but there are no words or phrases that are actually recognizable, at least not to Hi'a'shi.

Just as suddenly as it started, the Deathworlder cuts itself off, switching to Common. “No want fight,” it says, quieter than when it spoke its own language, and now Hi'a'shi can’t deny the fact that a Deathworlder is asking for a truce. “No want fight.” The repeated phrase breaks his train of thought, and he inspects the Terran. 

“No fight,” he echoes, returning the sentiment in words he now knows the Terran understands. Its knowledge of Common is limited, but the message comes across clearly. Hi'a'shi lowers his wings and steps back, causing the Terran to let out a huge breath of air, similar to the huffing sounds that Hi'a'shi’s own species makes. Hi'a'shi extends his wing to Sho'a, urging him to back away towards the kids. They were being offered an easy, peaceful resolution to the almost-altercation, and Hi'a'shi was not going to let anyone lose them the opportunity. 

Sho'a goes reluctantly, his paws padding softly on the floor in complement to the clicking of Hi'a'shi’s claws. Hi'a'shi settles into a seated position, but none of the kids or his Bonded do the same. He waits a few moments, and, when everyone still refuses to move, he hisses, “This isn’t a contest, everyone sit down right now. We are being offered an easy way out of this, so take it .” 

Hi'a'shi’s eyes glide over the group, making sure to make eye contact with each of them for a moment. He intends to leave no room for argument or resistance; they can’t afford to pick a fight right now, not without more information. The students slowly take a seat, all still huddled into the corner, until the only one left standing is Sho'a. 

Hi'a'shi watches his Bonded for a few seconds, but his impatience and anxiety win out. “Sit your ass on the floor, Az'awa Sho'a, or so help me…” He makes sure to keep his voice calm, not wanting to alarm the Terran, but he knows he has gotten his point across when Sho'a begrudgingly bends his legs, resting his head on his crossed paws. If it weren’t for his thrashing tails, Sho'a might look relaxed and comfortable. 

He glances at the Deathworlder nervously, unsure what its reaction would be to Sho'a’s constant subconscious display of aggression. Luckily, their group effort seems to pay off, and it lays down with closed eyes, not asleep, if Hi'a'shi is not imagining the slight twitching every time any one of them moves. For a few ticks, the room is tense, the silence roaring in his ears. 

Finally, someone speaks up. “I told you so, it’s no big deal,” Kam'nari says, sounding smug. “It didn’t even show one sign of aggression.” 

“Are you a fucking moron?” Bak'go snaps, an aggressive smirk spreading across his face. “They don’t call it a Deathworlder for shits and giggles!” 

“Well,” To'roki says blandly. “You would certainly be the expert among us.”

“The fuck did you just say to me?” Bak'go rounds on To'roki, his voice raised. 

“It’s not like it’s meant to be a secret.” To'roki crosses his arms, his eyes rolling. “You’re the one always bragging about being some kind of big shot warrior.” 

Bak'go growls, and Hi'a'shi shoots Sho'a a sympathetic look when he hears the long, suffering sigh. 

“That’s because Charian Deathworlders are -” 

“Settle down, both of you. I’m not going to tell you again,” Sho'a demands, his tails flicking sharply in the air. “Though it pains me to admit, Bak'go is right. Not just anything gets the title of a ‘Deathworld,’ and I’m not keen on finding out how this species survives on one.” 

Bak'go shoots To'roki a smug look, who only tilts his head, his face blank. Hi'a'shi will never be able to read that kid, he’s worse than Sho'a was when they were in UA together. “See? I told you-” 

“Can we not argue right now?” Ur'aka cuts off Bak'go’s remark, exasperated. “I’m tired and we don’t know what situation we’re in right now. So can we just - can we just go to sleep now?” She sounds, well, done. It’s a feeling Hi'a'shi is more than familiar with. 

“Ur'aka makes a good point, the lights should go out soon. Why don’t we all call it early and just wait for the night cycle?” Hi'a'shi adds, his feathers rustling. He settles in close to his Bonded, tucking his legs under himself and pressing the wing closest to Sho'a gently against his fur. They aren’t supposed to let the students know they’re Bonded, let alone the pirates. No telling how they could use their connection as a weapon against them for whatever they have planned. But these students have known for several rotations now, and they aren’t quite obvious enough for the pirates to pick up on anything. 

Thankfully, the students go quiet without much push back. They must have been more tired than they let on. Surprisingly, Bak'go is the first one to lay down on the metal, crossing his arms over his chest and staring up at the ceiling. One by one, the others follow, until they have all made themselves comfortable, or, as comfortable as they can be. 

A few clicks later, the lights shut off for the star cycle, but it isn’t as relaxing as Hi'a'shi was hoping it would be. As soon as the room plunges into darkness, sudden movement from the Terran’s cell has all of them tensing. It sits up sharply, its head twisting from side to side swiftly. Hi'a'shi is surprised it hasn’t gotten whiplash with its rapid scanning. Finally, after a few more ticks, it stops, turning towards them. Hi'a'shi freezes, and he can feel his Bonded’s muscles flexing beside him. The two strips of green fur on its face shift lower before the Terran lays back down, this time facing the opposite way, and makes itself smaller, bringing its legs up to what Hi'a'shi assumes is its torso. 

It takes a few ticks for his Bonded to relax again, but when he does, Hi'a'shi releases a quiet huff of air as he prepares for another night behind bars. 

Chapter Text

Izuku wakes up sweating, turning to his back to pull at his jacket before he’s even fully aware.

He wrestles with the fabric for a moment, opening his eyes as he finally manages to yank it out from underneath him. The cell block is quiet. Dark. Small, dim lights are spaced out along the floor of the corridor between the cages, illuminating the cell block just enough to grant Izuku the ability to see. He sits up, popping his neck to ease the strain of sleeping on solid metal, and looks over at the aliens in the next cell. He can’t see all that well, but it looks like the majority of the aliens are grouped together.

He supposes, then, that must mean he’s the first to wake up. 

Izuku lays back down, trying to get a few more minutes of sleep, but he’s not even a minute into his attempt before he starts getting antsy. He turns onto his side, squeezing his eyes shut. How did his wonderful dream school experience turn into this ? It was supposed to be safe. He remembers, very distinctly, how sincerely and earnestly his professor promised them that there were no risks. That nothing could possibly go wrong. That, even if something could somehow go wrong, she had the ability to take remote control of his pod. 

What a fucking joke . 

Even if they did have full control of his pod, what could they have done? He should never have been put in any kind of spacecraft alone in the first place . Doesn’t matter how prestigious the school is; they are liable for his safety, and having no adult supervision compromises that safety. Clearly. Given where he is right now. Izuku huffs, clenching his jaw. Maybe if stupid fucking Professor Zhara just listened to him when he expressed his concerns, he wouldn’t be in this situation. He wouldn’t have to figure out how to escape from an alien spaceship . 

How is he even supposed to escape in the first place? Izuku barely knows how to fly a simplified version of a human ship, and that’s with assistance, too. He can’t fly an alien spaceship, he can’t even speak the language, let alone read it. On top of that, the aliens are leaps and bounds ahead of humans in terms of technological advancements. 

In short, he is utterly doomed. He holds back a groan and presses the heels of his hands into his eyes. Not only can he not fly the ship, he can’t even get to the bridge to try to figure it out. At least - not stuck in a cage. If he can just find a way out… 

He opens his eyes, sitting up slowly. The lighting is terrible, so he can’t make out many details, but there’s no time like the present, right? Izuku pushes himself to his feet and slowly walks to the cell door, making sure to stay as quiet as possible. He’d rather not accidentally wake up his… neighbors, after all. At first glance, the door seems pretty flawless in its design. The hinges are seemingly unreachable, surrounded by metal, and he doesn’t see an easy way to actually unlock or access the cell. 

Yet, he knows, there has to be some kind of mechanism controlling the door. They obviously couldn’t have just phased through the bars. He smiles to himself at the thought, then begins feeling around the metal for some kind of latch. After a few moments, he pauses, his fingers curling around a small, circular device pressed into the metal. He frowns, uncertain. There must be some kind of access to it. The device has a different feel compared to the cold metal, but that’s all his fingers can find. No handle, no keyhole, just a small circular device. 

Letting out a frustrated huff, Izuku moves away from the door. It must be some kind of technologically activated system; something he won’t be able to figure out without seeing it in action. He walks around the rest of the cell, but with his limited vision, he can’t find any “chinks in the armor,” so to speak. Izuku clenches his jaw, turning to go back to his spot on the floor, but he stops. His eyes snag on the group in the cell adjacent to his own. None of them are awake right now , he notes silently. This is probably the best chance he’ll have to get a closer look at them without the bird and cat aliens jumping down his throat.

Izuku quietly steps closer to the bars separating him from the aliens, his fingers curling around the cold metal. He leans forwards, squinting through the darkness. The aliens are mostly grouped up in the same corner they were in when Izuku first woke up. They sleep in some kind of a pile, some stacked on top of others. There are only three outliers: The bird, the cat, and the red and orange scaled humanoid lizard. The two former aliens are resting in front of the group, acting as another barrier between Izuku and the others. The humanoid one, on the other hand, rests a few feet away from everyone else. Perhaps they’re some kind of outcast? Outcast, he decides, is a fitting name.

Speaking of which, he should really think of simple names for the other aliens. Describing them in his mind every time he thinks of them is starting to get quite annoying. 

Izuku inspects the aliens for a few seconds, looking for stand-out features. The small, jackrabbit-like one, he decides, can be Watts because of their little electricity stream. He’ll just call the bird and cat aliens Bird and Cat, respectively. Simplicity is best, right? The bug-like one can be Clicks, he notes, as their pinchers click in their sleep. He doesn’t need to give the Oriri’vry a name; he already knows their species name. As for the second lizard alien, the only defining thing Izuku has noticed is the clean split between red and white scales. It reminds him of a candy cane. As he thinks, he notices their stiff, almost anxious posture. Mx. Candy Cane it is, then - do they have genders, is that a thing among aliens?  

Izuku is startled out of his thoughts when the lights suddenly flick on, blinding him and causing him to stumble back with a shout. His hands fly up to his face, trying to block out the light and ease some of the spots that appeared with the abrupt brightness. He freezes when the sound of movement in the other cell reaches his ears, followed by a cacophony of alarmed voices. Izuku presses the heels of his palms into his eyes, clenching his teeth. It is too loud, too bright, too much all at once. 

Izuku tries to take another step back, but he loses his balance, going down hard. He pushes his arms behind him on instinct. He lands too hard on his left wrist and he yelps, yanking his hand back to his chest and letting himself fall the rest of the way to the floor. He looks around wildly before finally focusing back on the aliens across from him. If they didn’t wake up when the lights came on, they’re certainly wide awake now.

Wide awake and staring right at him.

There is a moment of tense silence. They stare at each other, gazes unmoving. Izuku holds his wrist close, trying to ease the throbbing. He doesn’t move a muscle. Idly, he wonders how many times they’ll end up in this same exact position. He knows the answer is entirely dependent on how long he’s stuck here. He doesn’t want to think about how long that might actually be.  

The stillness is broken when Outcast growls, stepping forward, but they don’t make it more than a few feet before Cat moves to stand in their way. 

Red eyes - were they always that color? - pierce into his own. Cat’s tails swish back and forth aggressively, and Izuku resists the urge to back away. He weighs his options quickly. His actions should be based on their motives. On one hand, if he backs down first, maybe they’ll calm down. He doesn’t know if they see him as a threat, but if they do, submitting might demonstrate his lack of harmful intentions. On the other hand, they could be looking for a fight; any sign of weakness would only prove to portray him as an easier target. 

He sucks in a shaky, shallow breath. He doesn’t know what to do, how to present himself. He doesn’t know how to get out of this mess. Fortunately, he isn’t forced to make a decision. 

A rattling sound reaches his ears, and, on instinct, his head pivots to the door of the cell block. He watches it for a few moments, anxiety rising as the clanking approaches. Soon, a long beep echoes through the room, followed by a rapid succession of clicks. Izuku stands up, backing away to the far corner of his cell as he eyes the door warily. It opens smoothly, silently, and two aliens walk in, one of which is pushing a cart that is - in an almost comedic way - nearly too tall for them. 

The guard with the cart is an Oriri’vry, though their color scheme is different from the one in the other cage. Their skin is a light green down their sides and arms, fading into a deep purple around their abdomen. Avery, they look like they’d be an Avery. The other must be the same species as Watts - whatever that might be - with little trails of electricity jumping between their antennae. He’s gonna call them Volts. From the moment the two enter, Volts doesn't take their eyes off of the cages. They scan the occupants slowly, until they finally descend upon Izuku. 

Do something , Izuku tells himself. Volts must be here to act as protection for Avery, but they don’t have a weapon on them; at least, not one that Izuku can see. The electricity suddenly feels a lot more dangerous. He licks his lips anxiously, trying to think of a way to make sure Volts doesn’t try anything. 

The reaction is instantaneous. 

The electricity stream between Volts’ antenna sparks wildly, and suddenly Volts is snarling at him, even as they back away a step. They straighten, pushing themself up as if trying to appear… bigger? Strangely enough, the action reminds Izuku of something his dad told him when he was young: Make yourself bigger, Nahn, and make a lot of noise. You want to scare it off. At the time, he was talking about a black bear, and the thought is almost enough to make Izuku laugh. Instead, he stares, dumbfounded by the suggestion that he’s the black bear in this scenario.

He can work with that. If he assumes that he is the black bear to everyone , the question of a motive behind the aggression is answered. He was being viewed as a threat after all; the aliens are afraid of him. That is… quite an interesting revelation. 

He tries to recall every possible creepy or threatening thing he’s ever seen or heard of. Feeling only mildly ridiculous, he widens his eyes. Reminiscent of some of the horror movies he and his mom like to watch, he lowers his head so he’s looking up through his eyelashes. Izuku bares his teeth as he steps away from the back of his cell, curling his shoulders forward while standing as tall as he can. Flexing his hands, he curls his fingers into a wide claw. The fear that he’s greeted with from Avery as they back up into the wall behind them almost makes Izuku feel badly enough to want to give up the act, but he can’t allow himself to falter now. He’s made himself a ‘real’ threat; if he hesitates now, they’ll see straight through his act. 

Izuku slowly stalks forward, making sure to drag his feet so the sound echoes chillingly off the metal walls. Avery says something in Common , their voice trembling, and Volts hisses something back before spurring into motion. They open a compartment on the cart and pull out three trays filled with what looks like food. Volts slides all of them through a slight gap at the bottom of the door to the aliens’ cage. Then the guard rushes back to the cart to grab one more tray, which they push through an identical opening at the bottom of his own cage. All the while, Izuku refuses to take his eyes off of them, only moving to step forward when Volts gets to Izuku’s door. 

Volts jerks away so harshly, some of the food gets knocked off the tray and onto the floor. Avery rushes forward as soon as Volts backs away, yelling something. The two of them hurry back to the door they came in. Avery presses their wrist to a spot next to the door, and Izuku drops his act, moving close to the bars to see what they’re doing. 

On their wrist is a thin bracelet-like band. It’s a matte black and sleek, flat to the skin. A few seconds after it touches a small black circle - similar to the one he felt on his cage - next to the door, another drawn out beep pierces the air, followed, once more, by the rapid clicking of what he realizes must be the locking mechanism. After another second, the door glides open. Avery and Volts race through as if Izuku somehow got free and is chasing after them with a knife before letting it slip shut behind them. 

Izuku stands in his cell, simply staring at the door, for several seconds. Did two aliens, in literal space, on a literal alien spaceship, just… run away from him? Him? A giggle bursts from his lips, and he slaps his right hand over his mouth, his eyes wide. He was kidnapped. By aliens. That are scared of him. This time, he doesn’t stop the laughter bubbling up from his chest. 

He’s going to die here, isn’t he? These aliens, who are apparently afraid - terrified, even - of him, are going to be the reason he never goes home. The reason he never gets to see his mom again. The reason he never gets to graduate from Kuiper High, never gets to go to Rosette University. For some reason, the thought makes him laugh harder and harder, until he sinks to his knees, holding onto the bars of his cell for dear life as his cackling refuses to stop. 

Izuku gasps for breath in between his laughter, attempting to stop when his stomach starts burning from the strain. He tips forward, pressing his forehead to the cold floor, squeezing his eyes shut. His hysteria slowly starts to die out, and he is left panting on the floor, his throat feeling weirdly tight. He stays there for a few minutes, greedily sucking air into his lungs. 

When he finally manages to catch his breath slightly, he sits up, wiping tears from his eyes. He looks at the aliens in the cage beside him, pausing when he sees them. He barely manages to stop another round of cackling from bursting from his throat. The aliens have all crowded together at the side of the cage opposite of him, watching him with varying degrees of what he now recognizes as fear, wariness, and confusion. Per usual, Bird and Cat have placed themselves in front of the others, but they, too, stand as far from him as possible. 

Izuku looks away from the aliens, no longer finding himself to be very worried about an attack. He inspects the tray that was pushed into the cage, which is laden with a variety of foods. He shifts a few things around on the tray. He sees a few kinds of red meat, cooked versions of those same meats, a few things that look like they might be considered fruit, seeds, for some reason, and… bread? It’s soft, and he tears it open easily. It has the same consistency of bread, but the color is off putting. He narrows his eyes at the pale red ‘bread’, bringing it up to his nose and drawing in a deep breath. It doesn’t smell like bread, but honestly, it doesn’t smell like much of anything.

Izuku sets it down to pick up the various ‘fruits’. They are a range of colors and textures, each chopped up into cubes. He scrunches up his nose at one that smells remarkably like battery acid. Gross. He sets the three cubes of that monstrosity to the side and picks one up that’s neon pink. It smells kind of like jasmine. He’s pretty sure food isn’t supposed to smell like that, but what does he know? He’s in space, space is weird. Izuku glances up at the aliens again, who are still watching him intently, not having moved from their positions. Very weird. 

He takes the tiniest bite he can possibly manage, and his eyes widen at the delightful flavor. It kind of tastes like a cross between jasmine tea - which makes sense - and oranges. Izuku smiles, pulling the other two cubes closer to him and shoving the rest of the first one into his mouth. 

Izuku skips over the seeds, deciding to try out the few different cooked meats on the tray instead. The first one he picks up is colored a deep blue, the meat tender and easy to pull apart, although his left wrist twinges in pain when he does so, finally moving the joint. He sniffs at it, but it’s odorless. He supposes it makes sense that they would leave it unseasoned; although, for all he knows, seasoning may not even be a thing in space. Shrugging to himself, he takes a bite, chewing slowly. The texture is interesting: stringy and shockingly easy to bite into. It practically falls apart as soon as he begins to chew. It doesn’t taste bad, but the flavor as a whole is lacking. Bland. This is why, he decides, No one eats unseasoned meat . 

He moves on, leaning forward to grab another type of meat, dark red in the middle, though darker on the top and bottom. It reminds him of steak. That’s a good sign, at least. This meat has an odd smell to it, one he doesn’t have the words to describe very well. It almost smells like sulfur, but… not quite, at the same time. He slowly, more hesitantly and gently than before, tears away part of the cubed meat, popping it into his mouth. It’s tougher than it looks, forcing him to chew even harder than usual to cut through it. It tastes… fine. At least it doesn’t taste horrible, as it’s probably going to be one of his best options for protein here. 

Izuku shoves another piece of the same meat into his mouth before he can second guess himself, gnawing at it as he pokes at something that resembles jello. It wiggles when he touches it, but it sticks to his finger when he pulls it away. He tilts his head at the substance now on the tip of his pointer finger, nervously rubbing it between his fingers. It’s thick and slimy, leaving behind a gross residue on his skin. He sighs, resigned to his fate, then licks the jello-stuff off of his fingers. He blinks, pausing as he registers the sugary taste. It’s almost like… honey. The texture lines up well enough, too. A strange aftertaste lingers on his tongue after he swallows, but it’s not bad. He nods in approval, deciding that he likes alien honey. 

The last food item on the tray, other than the seeds, is a group of berries. Izuku eyes them warily, cautiously picking one up and crushing it between his fingers. The scent is sweet, which is a good sign. Probably. Hopefully. He wipes off the juice on his pants, picking up a few more berries and stuffing them in his mouth. The food has been safe so far, so it’ll probably be fine, right? 

Wrong. 

…Fuck . 

Izuku gags, a bitter, sour, disgusting flavor spreading through his taste buds, and he spits the berries out quickly. His breathing becomes shallow from the coughs that begin to wrack his body, shaking his head roughly as if he can rid his mouth of the pungency. His stomach clenches, and he bites his tongue, holding back another grimace. Gross, gross, gross. At least he knows he’ll never eat that again. It reminds him of a liquid medicine he had been forced to take when he was a kid. They tried to flavor it - some kind of weird artificial grape - but it wasn’t nearly strong enough, and his throat burned on its way down. 

Izuku hastily grabs the container that holds what he really hopes is water- his left wrist throbs at the action, but he doesn’t care - in order to wash the taste off of his tongue. Izuku tries to open it, but he can’t figure out how to open the lid. It’s not a twist like a water bottle, and it doesn’t snap open either, or if it does, he can’t get the right leverage with one hand. He can see the line where it opens, but he just can’t get it to work. There’s a loud chuff  from one of his neighbors, and Izuku looks up. The Oriri’vry holds up a container of their own and shows him how to unseal the lid. They squeeze the sides, then tap the top, and the lid pops up an inch, allowing them to pull it off. It’s an unexpected but kind gesture, and he blinks at them slowly as he copies their movement. He really hopes this is water. When he manages to unseal the lid, he raises the container in a toast, offering them what he hopes is a grateful close-lipped smile. 

He purses his lips, looking back down at the clear liquid, his shoulders tensing as he gets a small whiff. It smells a little bit sweet, but nothing as strong as something like syrup or chocolate, so he takes a tiny sip. He threw away his caution with the berries, he won't make the same mistake twice. It’s definitely water, or something close to it, but it seems to have some strange added minerals in it. It’s refreshing, and the faint sweetness does a fine job of rinsing his mouth of the berries. 

Izuku climbs to his feet, still sipping at the water, holding his left arm to his chest as he moves. He makes sure to keep his movements slow, noticing the nervous shifting of the aliens when he gets up. His left leg tingles when it wakes up, his toes numb as he walks around his cell. He takes a few laps around the bars, nervous energy keeping him from sitting still. He sighs, pausing to take another sip of his water and - 

That’s weird. Suddenly, he’s… tired? Well, not tired , exactly, just out of breath. Surely it hasn’t been that long since he’s had some decent exercise. It can’t have been more than a few days since he was on the Anchor, and he was exercising every day in training before he was… well. 

Anyway , the point is, he shouldn’t be out of breath, at least not this quickly. Which means something is very wrong. He pauses, breathing out and then, slowly, drawing in a deep breath. He becomes a little lightheaded, his vision blurring for a moment, and Izuku reaches out suddenly, grasping the bars of his cell with his left hand to keep his balance, a large flare of pain rewarding him for the abuse to his wrist. 

What the fuck. What the fuck.  

It should not be this hard to breathe . Is it a panic attack? He wasn't feeling very… panicky until now, and it’s not exactly that his throat is closing up. It feels more like he just can’t get enough air to sustain his body. He can’t catch his breath, he can’t catch his breath, why can’t he breathe ? 

Izuku falls to his knees, gasping, struggling for air. He can vaguely register the shouting of his neighbors, the alien language coming out shrill and high pitched, even while muffled by Izuku’s own racing heart. His left hand is still holding the bars in a white-knuckled, throbbing grip, the fingernails on his right hand scratching at the metal floor below him. Well , he thinks to himself, mildly hysterical once more. If I wasn’t having a panic attack before, I certainly am now . 

Izuku pulls his right hand up from the floor, scratching at his throat as if he could force more oxygen into his lungs. Oxygen . That’s it. He needs oxygen; there isn’t enough air for him on this ship, and he’s only just finding out through the symptoms of altitude sickness . He needs to calm down, his panicking is only exacerbating the situation. 

There’s just a slight problem. 

Handling panic attacks has never been a strong suit of his, and that isn’t going to change out of necessity. He narrows his eyes, trying to focus on something - anything - to ground himself, but the edges of his vision are already starting to fade to gray. Suddenly, something soft brushes against his hand; the one that is gripping onto the bars for dear life . The room spins when he snaps his head up, finally loosening his grip to rip his hand away from the bars. 

Black fur and vertically slitted eyes catch his gaze, and Izuku can’t help but latch on to the distraction. Cat sits calmly, their tails swishing back and forth on the floor. They lean forward, their snout just inches from the bars. One of their tails rises up off the ground, and he watches as it slowly glides through the air, crossing through a gap in the bars. His eyes widen, self preservation demanding that he run, move, get away, do something , but he just… sits there. It’s as if his panic attack completely shut down his limbs, rendering them unusable, paralyzed. Which makes sense, he supposes. The brain needs oxygen to operate, doesn’t it? 

The tail hovers in the air in front of face for a moment, and Izuku finds himself only able to stare, gasping desperately for breath, his body still frozen in place. Hesitantly, the tip of the tail brushes against Izuku’s cheek. His eyes flutter closed at the sensation of the soft fur against his skin. 

The tail shifts suddenly, causing Izuku to flinch at the movement, tensing, bracing himself for… whatever it is Cat is going to do to him. Nothing happens for a long moment, the sound of Izuku’s strained gasps the only thing warding off the tense silence. Hesitantly, Izuku pries his eyes open, forcing his blurry vision to land on Cat. They haven’t moved from their relaxed pose, and Izuku’s eyes scan their body before finally landing on those dark, void-like eyes. 

They watch him far too calmly compared to the hostility they displayed just minutes before. Far too calmly when Izuku feels like he might be dying. Is he dying? He really hopes not. He doesn’t want to die; not yet, not here, not before he sees his mom again. Not before he sees Earth again and can stare up at a familiar splattering of shining stars from his backyard. 

Cat extends their tail again, this time wrapping it around his left wrist loosely, drawing Izuku’s attention to the inflamed, slightly swollen stretch of skin encompassing the joint. Distantly, beyond his panic and racing heart, Izuku hopes it looks worse than it really is. 

The tail tugs on his arm lightly when he fails to show any form of acknowledgement, and his face twitches when a barely-there flash of pain registers. His eyes flick back to Cat’s face, holding eye contact once more. They stare at each other, Izuku with unfocused eyes, until Cat starts exaggerating their breathing. The end of their tail flicks gently against his arm in a steady rhythm. Izuku finds himself, almost subconsciously, attempting to mimic the slow rise and fall of their chest. 

It’s a monotonous, agonizingly slow process that has Izuku drawing further into his head, but, piece by piece, Izuku begins to calm down. His breathing, though still shallow, begins to slow, and he relaxes his body, sagging tiredly against the cell bars. 

Izuku, his mind still partially in the clouds, makes a desperate noise when the tail begins to withdraw from his wrist, and the movement stills. Izuku sucks in another breath through his teeth, wishing, dully, that he’d been placed in a room with a higher oxygen concentration. Actually - scratch that. He wishes that he had never been kidnapped in the first place. His head lolls to the side, the world tilting, spinning around him before he hits the bars with a dull thunk . As darkness finally consumes his vision, he wonders, too, what he ever did to deserve this. 

“We are but slaves to the whims of the universe, Nahn.”

Chapter Text

“I bet it’s dead.” Sho’a pauses, then slowly turns around. His tired eyes find Bak'go, and he sighs. These kids are going to be the death of him. Or rather, just Bak’go. Bak’go is, one day, going to be the death of him; Sho’a can feel it in his bones.

“They aren’t dead, Bak'go, and we shouldn’t keep calling them an ‘it’, Terrans are sentient.” Even if Sho’a didn’t know about the Terrans, who should be joining the PAC Corps properly as a recognized, space-faring species within the next twenty Sun Revolutions, today would have demonstrated their sentience well enough.

He recalls the way the Terran had easily clocked the Elerack guard’s fear. They way they had paused for a moment, before they had lowered their head, staring upwards at the Elerack and baring their teeth. He remembers the way they had suddenly stood taller - almost seeming to grow in size - their hands forming a deadly claw despite the lack of sharp nails. Sho’a remembers being frozen in fear at the chilling sound of the Terran stalking forward, their hind limbs dragging across the metal, the air tense as they waited for them to strike, as if the Terran wasn’t behind bars, separated from everyone. How, as the guards fled, the Terran quickly dropped what Sho’a only just then realized was an act. The Terran saw - or maybe even smelt - the fear rolling off the guards, and used that knowledge to make themself an even bigger threat than it already was.

Sho’a privately wonders if that was a smart thing for the Terran to do. Can he really say which one would be better? Is it better to be seen as a major threat, a dangerous species, so that the guards don’t end up using them as ‘stress relief’? Or is it better to be considered weak, defenseless, possibly inviting abuse from their captors only to use it to their advantage if - and when - they attempted to escape?

Bak'go scoffs, rolling his eyes. Sho’a resists the urge to glare at him, red eyes blazing. “You think, but you taught us - just a few weeks ago - how damn rare it is for sentient species to develop on Deathworld planets. For all we know, it could have heard someone say ‘no fight’ and mimicked it.”

A growl vibrates his chest, the sound filling the quiet room. “I don’t think, I know. Terrans have been communicating in Common, forming cohesive sentences, with council representatives for over a hundred sun revolutions now.”

And… wow. That is, quite frankly, a long time. This whole process has already lasted longer than it did for any of the other sentient species already a part of the PAC Corps. Even Bak’go’s species only took ten sun revolutions to officially join the corps.

Sho’a turns back to the Terran, studying their features closely, memorizing the strange smoothness to their mostly hairless face. It almost unnerves him: how unassuming - how unthreatening - the Terrans can appear to be. And those mood swings - he doesn’t know if it is just this Terran in particular or if it can be blamed on the situation, or even on the species as a whole - were all over the place. They went from terrified to calm, to confused then to panicking, all in a matter of ticks. Even their expressions shift vastly from one tick to the next, their skin rippling and contorting in strange new ways with every emotion.

And then there’s the whole suffocation issue.

The Terran moved around their cell nearly effortlessly, and then, seemingly out of the blue, the Terran’s breaths started to speed up. Their breathing became irregular and thin, wheezing and gasping for air, spiraling into a panic attack that only made the situation even worse. Of course, it makes sense that the whole issue could have stemmed from a lack of adjustment to the standard air particles used on ships. Planets that can support life tend to have similar gasses in their atmospheres, but the percentages vary. What worries him more is how long it took the - likely - deprivation of enough of a needed element or elements to have an effect and how quickly it crippled the Terran so drastically.

It just doesn’t make any sense. Sho’a hates when things don’t make sense. And yet, somehow, this Terran has quickly become the most confusing aspect of Sho’a’s life, and he can’t find an ounce of hatred for the creature in his heart.

“...Az’awa-sensei probably knows, why don’t you ask him instead of bothering me, Dunce Face!” Bak’go’s enraged voice startles Sho’a out of his thoughts, and he looks away from the Terran.

“Ask me what, Kam'nari?” Sho’a cuts in, completely ignoring Bak’go’s comment, too tired to reprimand the problem child for the way he speaks to his classmates. Again. He should probably just give up that particular endeavor, Bak’go is more stubborn than a rock.

“I was just gonna ask how we discovered Terrans in the first place - and vice versa, y’know? I mean, it feels like they just popped up out of nowhere a few decades ago when the Council told everyone they’d discovered a new sentient species.”

“How do you know that?” Ur’aka asks, tilting her head.

Kam'nari shrugs. “My parents were around at the time and were working jobs on separate ships. They didn’t get any specifics but they remember what it was like at the time and the general impression the discovery had on everyone. They’ve told me a few stories and given me some transmissions to go along with them.”

“What the fuck does that mean?” Bak’go explodes - literally - with palms sparking dangerously.

“What he means,” Sho’a says, with an infinite patience that Bak’go is slowly but surely chipping away at. “Is that Eleracks have the ability to transmit snippets of memories, feelings, or knowledge through to each other and their offspring through their electricity.”

“Yeah, so I knew about them my whole life, and then a few years ago I got really curious and spent around a week finding everything that was easily accessible on the Plexus.”

Bak’go snorts, mumbling a quiet “nerd” under his breath.

Sho’a wouldn’t be surprised if, at this point, his eyes just popped out of his head, considering how many times he’s rolled them today. “To answer your question, Kam'nari, the council noticed increased activity in a solar system previously deemed unsustainable for sentient life. The only planet there that could have supported any life was a death world, so it was written off, but projectiles don’t just change direction in space without any kind of collision or other external forces. So they sent scouts to check out the situation.”

Hi’a’shi picks up where Sho’a left off. “Which, at the time, was believed to be pirate activity. The first few scouts went undetected, and reported back that there seemed to be sentient life on Terra. The Council, of course, sent more and more scouts for the next few sun revolutions. So imagine their surprise when they found that the Terrans had grown so advanced in their technology that they could not only explore their own solar system, but also pick up on our scouting ships. And they were starting to portray the beginning stages of expansion and colonization. It was quite the exciting discovery-”

“But it wasn’t all good,” Sho’a cuts in before Hi’a’shi’s infectious excitement can spread to the students, which would only serve to lower their guards. “Terrans exhibited extreme aggressive tendencies, as I’m sure you all guessed. They managed to take out one of our scouting ships before we were finally able to make contact and settle them down. That’s right around when the council decided it was time the public knew; they were desperate to avoid any unintentional encounters that could lead to offending the Terrans and possibly even causing a war.”

“A war?” Ur’aka mumbles nervously. “Were they really that… you know.”

A silence falls over the cell for a few seconds, and Sho’a exchanges a glance with Hi’a’shi. “Unfortunately, yes. It was a reasonable worry, from what I can understand.”

“Why are we even attempting to include the Terrans if they are such aggressive Deathworlders? That is quite unbecoming of the Council, they are putting everyone at risk.”

“I’m a fucking Deathworlder, four eyes!” Bak’go explodes, quite literally, as his hands spark at Iida.

To’roki crosses his arms and tilts his head. “Well there you have it then.”

“You wanna say that to my face-!?”

A soft click, clack, click, clack reaches Sho’a’s ears, and he twitches, his ears swiveling toward the door. He pushes himself to his feet and pulls his tails away from the Terran in one swift motion, halting any further conversation. “Guards,” he calls, his lips curling up into a vicious snarl. His Bonded is up seconds later, stepping in front of the students as they make their way to the farthest corner from the hallway.

“You’d really think they’d be a little more considerate when they show up. The least they could do is not interrupt a conversation, am I right?” Kam'nari nudges Iida softly, who coughs loudly.

“Kam'nari,” Sho’a starts, both sounding and feeling extremely dead inside. “Please just stand - silently - in the corner with the others.”

“Okay, but you can’t tell me I’m wro-” Hi’a’shi flaps his wings suddenly, creating a loud whooshing sound, and effectively drowning out the rest of Kam'nari’s sentence. Sho’a shoots him a grateful look before trotting over, his claws clicking quietly on the floor. No sooner than when Sho’a places himself in front of his students do the doors open at the end of the hallway. Two guards enter slowly, cautiously approaching the Terran’s cage. It’s the same two from earlier today: the Oriri’vry and the Elerack.

He almost wants to laugh at how visibly relieved they are when they spot the Terran. “It looks like it’s asleep,” the Oriri’vry says, their posture straightening.

“Great,” the Elerack snaps with all of the confidence of someone who was not, just seconds earlier, seconds from shitting themself. “Then get on with it; collecting trays isn’t something that should take a whole revolution. Did it finish?”

“Looks like it; it tried most of the things on the tray. The food techs can just pick two of the most eaten things.”

The Elerack takes an irritated step forward. “Do I look like I care what the process behind this is?”

The Oriri’vry suppress a squeak and their voice quiets. “I was just saying we can take the trays; it’s eaten enough.” And then even quieter, too quiet for those with normal hearing, “You were the one who asked, Fivl.” Sho’a almost feels bad for the Oriri’vry. Almost. He thinks he’s too tired for anything but mild amusement and irritation right now.

“What’d you just say?” the Elerack growls, narrowing their eyes.

“Nothing,” the Oriri’vry responds quickly, starting to move back toward the door. “Just that I’d get the others.” The eyeroll that follows - unbeknownst to the Elerack - drips heavily with sarcasm.

The Elerack stands in front of the cells, eyeing the Terran with suspicion, as if expecting an attack at any moment. In a few ticks, Sho’a knows, three others will enter to act as added security when the cell doors are opened to collect the trays. If it weren’t for that added security, Sho’a is sure they would have escaped their cells by now, even if they didn’t fully make it off the ship. But with his injury and Hi’a’shi being limited by the closed in space, it’s too risky to try.

Rapid click-click-clicking draws Sho’a’s attention back to the door as it slides open, and he watches the three guards - the usual group - enter. The Oriri’vry leads the Firierodu and the Njilu into the room. These are the same three who dragged the Terran into their cell, and Sho’a doesn’t know how to feel about the fact that the crew felt the Terran required the same amount of security as their whole group. He feels like maybe he should be a little bit offended at the unintentional slight, but to be fair, they are a Terran after all.

“Alright, let’s get this over with,” the newer Oriri’vry says, their voice steady and firm; it commands attention. Sho’a notes, not for the first time, that this gravity manipulator must be one of the highest ranking members of the crew. If they ever need leverage, the Oriri’vry is who they’d need to target.

The Elerack waits for the Njilu and Firierodu to get in position behind them before unlocking the Terran’s cage door, easing it open far quieter than they usually would. As the door swings open, a low creeeeak disturbs the silence in the cells, and the Elerack freezes, their eyes wide and set on the Terran. After a few seconds of continued stillness, they release the door turn to the Oriri’vry, gesturing forward as if to say “Your turn, I’m not setting a foot in there.” It’s amusing.

The Oriri’vry shoots the Elerack a long look as they walk past, clearly attempting to bury their rage. The two stare at each other for a few more moments before the Elerack leans forward, electricity sparking between its antennae, and the Oriri’vry breaks eye contact. With a quick shake of their head, they step gingerly into the cell. Their feet seem to barely touch the ground with how lightly they walk on their way to pick up the Terran’s tray. This is taking way longer than it needs to, and Sho’a just wants to be left alone so he can sleep. Or talk. No, just sleep.

The Oriri’vry bends down when they reach the tray, but the second one of their hands touches the tray, a loud pop echoes through the room, and the Oriri’vry drops the tray with a suppressed scream. And then… all of the guards turn toward them. Well, not them. Just Bak’go. Sho’a refrains from scolding his student as the D’yamae descends into manic cackling, not even attempting to be discreet.

“Hey!” A loud, robotic voice drowns out the last of Bak’go’s laughter. “You think you’re so clever, don’t you?” Sho’a tenses, his guard immediately back up. He steps to the side, putting himself in front of Bak’go and blocking the Njilu’s line of sight. “Keep it down,” and god, why are those translators so unnecessarily deep? “Or we’ll make you.” Sho’a lowers himself further, his hackles raising. His levels a harsh glare at the Njilu, but it doesn’t seem to phase it. Because of course it doesn’t. He opens his mouth, but-

His ears twitch, catching the sound of a quiet intake of breath. Sho’a blinks in surprise, his mouth closing, and his eyes flick to the side to locate the source of the noise. His eyes land on his target just in time to see the Terran’s face scrunching up. Their body shifts slightly as they start to come out of their slumber. Sho’a, he quickly discovers, isn’t the only one who noticed. The other guards have only just started to turn when the Oriri’vry lets out a high pitched squeal (again; he swears they’re gonna burst his ear drums) and their claws make a dull scratching sound on the floor when they throw themself from the cell, clutching the tray tightly to their chest.

“Close the door!” They screech, but Sho’a can see the exact moment that the Terran fully wakes up and processes what is going on. The guards won’t be able to move fast enough; not with the Elerack and Oriri’vry scrambling the way they are. The Terran launches itself through the air towards the open door. At the same moment the gravity manipulator thrusts out their hand, increasing the gravity around the Terran enough that it’s a palpable change in the air. Except…

Except the Terran isn’t deterred.

The Terran drops to the floor with a solid thud, its feet planted firmly on the floor and then it just - it keeps moving. It doesn’t even take a tick to adjust.

It just.

Keeps.

Moving.

Running forward, quick and silent, barely more than half a hi’fu from the open door before the Elerack panics. They strike the Terran with a strong volt of electricity that would put down most species for at least a rotation. The Terran seizes standing up for a moment, the electricity visible in the way its green fur stands on end. No one moves as the seizing stops, waiting for the Terran to drop to the floor, but it just - it just shakes its head and stumbles a single step to the side. That’s it, like it’s nothing. Just as it steps forward, clearly intent on continuing to run towards the opening, the gravity manipulator grabs the bars of the door and slams it closed.

The Terran crashes into it with a scowl, its fingers wrapped around the metal. Sho’a half expects it to reach its arms through the bar in a wild attempt to grab one of the guards, but, instead, it just… stares. No, it glares, eyes narrowed into slits and teeth still on display. Then, for some reason, its mouth changes shape. It goes from curving downwards to curving upwards, baring their teeth even wider, and dragging a shiver down Sho’a’s spine.

He’ll make sure he never underestimates a Terran - especially if he ever has to face one in battle. Luckily, thanks to Hi’a’shi’s efforts, they seem to be well on their way to having a Terran as an ally, at least until they escape, that is. If they escape. Before they can ally themselves with the Terran though, they’ll have to break through the language barrier in order to even come up with a plan. Which definitely feels very possible, if a bit difficult, to say the least.

On that uplifting note, he decides he’ll be sure to get extra sleep tonight.

With the bars of the cell now acting as a barrier, the guards begin to regain their confidence. They straighten up, and the gravity manipulator goes so far as to glare back at the Terran, a challenging glint in their eyes. The Terran seems to register the challenge, and with a short but loud yell, they lash their arm out at the gravity manipulator. They miss the Oriri’vry and instead manage to scratch their claws - which are clearly not as blunt as he assumed - across the Elerack’s face, drawing blood and a pained shout.

The Elerack stumbles back, clutching at their face, a pained scowl aimed at the Terran. The Firierodu takes a threatening step forward, an outraged shout already escaping their mouth, but the Terran makes a noise that sounds like a cross between a hiss and a growl. The Elerack freezes just a tick after they started moving. The Terran bares their teeth, their mouth curling further upwards as they raise their hand. Their tongue slides across their fingers to lick the Elerack’s blood. They lick their lips, and the Elerack curses loudly.

“I’m not staying here with that- that- that thing! You’re on your own!” The Elerack bolts down the short hallway, frantically pressing their Access and Clearance Scanner to the lock. They keep glancing back every other tick until it opens and they rush through, not even bothering to close the door again.

The gravity manipulator releases an outraged growl, turning to watch them leave, but they seem to have no interest, either, in remaining in the room any longer than necessary. “Grab the D’yamae and take him to the Adaptation Chamber. I must report this… development.” Sho’a makes a disbelieving noise at the half-assed excuse; he is ignored - which is probably for the best - but when the Oriri’vry turns back to close and lock the door behind them, they send a withering glare in his direction. It only proves to make the situation that much more amusing.

The Firierodu steps up to the group’s cell door, pausing just as they reach to unlock it. Their body shifts, harder plates emerging to cover their body as they glower at Sho’a. “One wrong move Era’suur, and your little pet faces the consequences.” Sho’a clenches his jaw, resisting the urge to growl. He starts to lower his head, but -

“Who the fuck are you calling a pet, you pile of-?”

“Bak’go!” Sho’a snaps, barely turning his head to eye Bak’go into submission. Last thing they need is to piss off the guards. Again. They have bad luck with pissing off the guards, last time they barely managed to keep everyone in one piece.

A sudden, jarring clang echoes through the room, followed quickly by a combination of several - somehow guttural - hissing sounds and growls. The deep, bland tone of the translator follows just a few ticks behind. “Shut your traps. Everyone except the D’yamae needs to turn to face the wall. Now.” If Sho’a were any less pissed, he’d find the difference between the emotion in the Njilu’s voice and their translator amusing. As it stands, he just wants to claw their face off.

Reluctantly, Sho’a slowly turns to face the back wall, his fur standing on end as he hears the sound of the cell being opened behind him. He keeps his gaze locked firmly on his students, watching as Bak’go - cursing in his native language under his breath - complies with the guards. Thankfully, this time, he goes without kicking up too much of a fuss.

The guards and Bak’go leave the cell block quickly, and Sho’a finally turns around to watch as the door shuts behind them, catching Bak’go’s gaze with his own. Sho’a dips his head, a silent encouragement for his student to stay strong and stay silent until he returns. The well disguised fear in Bak’go’s eyes fade away to be replaced with determination, just as the door clicks shut.

On the bright side of the current situation, only Bak’go is required to have time in the Adaptation Chamber. All his other students are of species that adapt well and quickly away from their native environments. Bak’go is a strong, fierce, and respected warrior among his people; if anyone had to be separated from the group for any period of time… well. He’ll keep the fact that he’s glad it’s Bak’go to himself.

“I don’t like it when Bak’go has to leave,” Kam'nari laments, not for the first time. Sho’a sighs, turning toward the Elerack and offering a small show of comfort, nudging the kit with his nose.

“Bak’go is going to be fine. He always is.” Kam'nari acknowledges Sho’a with a wordless noise, yet still he curls up on the floor, his electric stream faltering in the kit’s somber mood. Out of all of the students trapped in the cell, Kam'nari probably has the most separation anxiety. He never responds well when Bak’go has to be taken to the chamber to re-adjust his body.

A noise across the room draws Sho’a’s attention away from his meager attempts to comfort his student, and Sho’a looks over at the Terran. They crouch down by the bars separating the two cells, their uninjured hand curled around one of the bars. They stare at Sho’a - and more specifically - at Kam'nari, who squeaks at the attention and grabs one of Sho’a’s tails. Sho’a’s entire body tenses at the extremely offensive action - barely refraining from throwing his student clear across the cell - as Kam'nari uses the tail he’s holding onto to poorly hide behind. The Terran is still staring at them, their face fur drawn low over their eyes.

No one dares to move as the edges of the Terran’s mouth tilt down. They reach their hand through the bars, the appendages on their hand curling into a fist with one pointing toward the door at the end of the cell block. For a moment, the Terran’s mouth twists and moves, no sound coming out, before they take a deep breath and open their mouth again. They gesture again to the door and say, “Danger.” They tilt their head in an overexaggerated motion. It’s clearly a question, and Sho’a’s eyes widen slightly when it clicks.

“No,” he responds simply, trying to limit himself to words he knows the Terran can understand. Unfortunately, his options are slim to none. “He’s…” He trails off, frowning. How is he supposed to communicate what’s going on to a creature who knows, what, three words of the Common language?

Luckily, Hi’a’shi catches on quickly, and he draws both of their attention with a sweeping gesture of one of his wings toward the door. “No danger. No want fight.” He sounds like a child, and Sho’a offers him a small smile. Miraculously, it seems to get the message across.

The Terran relaxes and points to the door again, a little more sure of themself. “Peace?” At the twin nods they receive, the corners of their mouth tilt back up. “Truce?” Sho’a is about to nod again, but he pauses. Do they actually know what they’re saying, or are they mimicking right now?

He exchanges an uncertain look with his Bonded. “No…” he says slowly, watching closely as the Terran seems to tense at the word. “Truce, no. Peace.” The Terran blinks at him, their expression concerningly blank. He decides to take it a step farther. “I want fight.” He points to the door at the end of his sentence with one of his tails, exaggerating the movement so the Terran turns to look at where he’s pointing. “Danger,” he continues, gesturing to his students. His students for whom he’s sacrificed so much to protect.

The Terran’s face fur scrunches together. Sho’a waits patiently for the Terran’s response. They point at the door, “Fight, yes?” Okay, so that’s another word they can use. At least he’s making some progress.

Sho’a nods his head firmly, “Yes.”

The Terran tilts their head in the other direction, lowering themself to the floor and crossing their legs. Both arms rest on their knees, their hands through the bars. Sho’a takes the initiative to move closer, sitting just outside of the Terran’s reach. It’s disconcerting how steady the Terran’s eyes are on him, never breaking eye contact, and it makes his fur stand on end, but he’s making progress. He can’t give up now.

The Terran raises their uninjured hand, bringing it back through the bars to press flat against their chest. In a deep, rough sounding language, they say, “Midoriya.” When Sho’a fails to respond, unsure what’s being said to him, the Terran repeats themself, their tone firmer, perhaps even a bit harsh. “Midoriya.”

Sho’a hesitantly looks back at his Bonded, but Hi’a’shi merely ruffles his neck feathers, the Skr’ker way of saying ‘I have no idea’. A very annoyed sounding huff from the Terran draws Sho’a back to the task at hand. “Me-doe-ree-uh,” they say, now pointing at themself. The word is stretched and enunciated, and Sho’a tries his best to repeat… whatever it is they want him to say.

“Meeee...orah.” The Terran’s mouth pulls further downward, so Sho’a tries again. “Me’ora.”

“Me-dooooe-reeee-uh,” they try again, and Sho’a does his best, he really does. However, their language doesn’t seem to be made for Sho’a’s mouth. He thinks it might not be made for any mouth except a Terran’s.

“Meee’orya. Mi’oria?” The Terran seems satisfied enough, but their face fur remains pushed together; something that he’s learned displays negative emotion.

They seem to know that he doesn’t quite understand what he’s saying, just mimicking it. It’s ironic. Barely two clicks ago, he thought the Terran was doing the same exact thing. They pause for a few more ticks before straightening suddenly, startling Sho’a. “I,” they start slowly in Common, lifting their hand and gesturing to themself again. “Midoriya.”

For a long, silent moment, Sho’a has no idea what they’re trying to say, but when it comes to him, he wants to bury himself alive in the metal beneath his paws. Of course they’re trying to tell him their name! It barely even crossed his mind that the Terrans had names. Sho’a’s an actual idiot. Sho’a raises a paw with as much dignity as he has left and gestures to the Terran - Midoriya - and says, “Mi’oria, yes?” Well… close enough, at least it gets the point across.

Mi'oria makes a side to side motion with their hand, but their face fur pulls apart and they nod excitedly. “Yes. I Mi’oria. You?”

“I Sho’a Az’awa. Sho-ah, Az-ah-wah” he makes sure to enunciate, but from the looks of it, it doesn’t seem like Mi’oria will have too much trouble mimicking the sounds that make up his name.

“Sho’a?” Point made. Although, Sho’a feels like a fool for saying his given name. He doesn’t know what order Terrans say their names in or if they call each other by their familial names at all, but it’s too late now. Well, at least they’re communicating and not trying to attack them. He’ll just have to make sure to tell the others to give only their familial names to avoid any confusion.

“Yes, I Sho’a.” At the confirmation, Mi'oria bobs their head. Their piercing gaze flicks over to Hi’a’shi, and Sho’a resists the urge to breathe a sigh of relief when their stare leaves him, even if only for a moment.

“Mi'oria,” they point to themself, “Sho’a, truce?”

Relieved to finally get somewhere, Sho’a bobs his head enthusiastically. “Yes!”

Mi'oria tilts their head, their attention back to Sho’a, staring at him and making his hackles rise slightly. Finally, Mi'oria leans forward, their mouth curving up and baring their teeth as they grab the bars separating the cells. “War?”

“What- NO!” A breathy sound - is that laughter? - escapes them, jostling their whole body, and they mumble something in their language, covering their mouth with their hands.

And… by the ancestors. They act like a problem child. He hopes not every mature Terran acts like this. That would mean an entire species of headaches is waiting for him.

Chapter Text

His whole body shakes with the force of his laughter, and Izuku can’t help the relief that floods through him. He doesn’t know if he’s laughing because he’s genuinely happy or if he’s just grateful to have found allies, but he doesn’t care. Instead, he revels in the moment. He keeps his good hand firmly in front of his mouth, blocking the smile that has encompassed the lower half of his face. Izuku has become more than aware that the aliens find his smile threatening, using it gleefully against the guards whenever they come into the cell block. 

Izuku’s gaze drifts slowly back toward Cat, their fur sticking out oddly from being raised in alarm too many times. When their eyes meet, his breath is nearly sucked from his lungs. The alien looks exasperated, yes, but… he almost looks fond . As much as a giant cat alien can look fond at least. It’s a look he’d only ever received from his parents, and he thinks that if he weren’t laughing so hard, he might’ve burst into tears. Cat - Sho’a - suddenly reminds him of his dad, and the thought makes his throat close up. 

As his laughter dies out, he can’t help but wonder if his dad would be proud of him. At this point, he’s probably made it farther than his father - or any human, ever, for that matter - ever went, but it wasn’t of his own accord. This couldn’t even really be considered an accomplishment. He’d gotten snatched out of space when he was so close to those who were supposed to protect him. Izuku is alone out here, with nothing but a group of aliens who barely tolerate his presence as allies. 

The situation reminds him of something his dad once said to him, and it helps alleviate some of  the ache in his chest. “There is no such thing as a true vacuum, even in space, so remember; you are never alone.” 

Well, Dad, he wants to say. I feel pretty alone right now.  

Izuku forces himself to stop thinking about his father, refusing to be reduced to a sobbing mess in front of the aliens. Not that they’d understand what was happening. It would probably be very confusing to them. 

Izuku focuses back on Cat - on Sho’a, looking for a way to communicate further. If they want to fight their way out, they need to come up with a plan, they need to work as a team. There’s a gaping canyon between them, the sides lined with loose rocks and defined by jagged edges. How is Izuku supposed to cross to the other side when he can’t even see a path to begin with? 

And then, like they were reading his thoughts - can some aliens read thoughts? - Bird casts him a rope to grab onto. “Ya’ada.” Izuku looks at Bird blankly, unsure what that word means. Bird spreads a wing in Cat’s direction and says, “Sho’a.” Then they bring their wing back in towards themself and repeat the word. “Ya’ada.” 

With the realization that they’re telling him their name comes hope, and Izuku grabs the offered rope in a vice-like hold. Izuku mimics the sounds of the name, surprised when it comes easily to him. The language rolls across his tongue like water. “Ya’ada.”  

Celebratory chittering has his lips forming a toothless smile, and one of the other aliens steps forward slowly at Sho’a’s gesture. Clicks, who’s bug-like appearance still makes him shiver uncomfortably, makes a sharp motion with their arm before opening their mouth. The sound that follows is something straight from his nightmares, and he jerks back violently with a gasp. Clicks freezes, their pupils visibly shrinking. They start speaking rapidly, and Izuku’s head snaps towards Cat, who looks seconds away from keeling over. 

Izuku isn’t sure how he knows that; it’s just the vibe he gets from Cat - Sho’a. This is getting ridiculous, he thinks to himself. It’s Sho’a, Sho-ah, get it right Izuku. Izuku purses his lips, sending Sho’a what he hopes is a pleading, please-help-me look. Sho’a seems to catch the meaning of his look and takes over for Clicks. With an almost lazy flick of one of their tails, Sho’a says, “Iida.” Clicks’ mouth shuts with an audible clack. “Eee-da.” 

Izuku tilts his head purposefully, and tries to repeat the name back to Sho’a. “Eeeeee-da?” It sounds off to him, and he frowns. 

Sho’a, as he expected, flattens his ears to his head in response. It reminds him of a normal cat’s fear response, but this is clearly a nonverbal negative. “Eeee-da,” Sho’a repeats, and this time, he hears it. The beginning is a little higher in pitch and almost sounds choked off. Like wheezing, but - not. He scrunches up his nose in concentration and starts trying to imitate the noise. 

At first he starts with the normal, human sound for an ‘e’, and tries to raise it up like Sho’a did, but his voice breaks and he has to clear his throat to try again. This time, he shifts his tongue so it’s laying flat in his mouth and tries again, but the sound is too flat and too - he doesn’t know the word for it. It’s not… airy enough, he supposes. Sho’a made it sound more like a sigh than whatever he’s making. So this time, he tries the opposite strategy, pushing the base of his tongue all the way back and up to the roof of his mouth. The sound comes out almost perfect, but the pitch is too deep, so he raises his voice into his falsetto region and tries one more time; it comes out perfect. Izuku smiles widely at his accomplishment, quickly raising his hand to cover his mouth to avoid setting off the aliens. 

“Iida!” Izuku’s imitation is near perfect, if he does say so himself. Plus - even if it’s not perfect, he’s trying to say the name of someone who has the facial structure of an insect . He thinks he deserves a little bit of slack. 

Izuku, embarrassingly, waits for Sho’a to purr in approval at him, but all he gets are stares from the aliens. Izuku’s smile falters, and he tilts his head again to show his confusion in a way they understand, his hand dropping into his lap. 

“Iida?” He tries again. After another few seconds of silence, he frowns, his eyebrows pinching together. “No?” 

Sho’a shifts, almost seeming uncomfortable or even uneasy, and responds, “Yes, Iida.” That was odd. So… he was right? He glances at the other members of the group, who all seem to be feeling similarly to Sho’a. 

“Iida, yes?” He tries again, and this time he gets the affirming purr he was looking for, but they don’t seem to be any more relaxed. He breathes out quickly through his nose, a little frustrated. He goes over his very limited vocabulary, searching for a word that would help him find clarification on this odd situation. “Peace?” he asks hesitantly after settling on one. 

That seems to bring a few of them back to life, and Sho’a rises from the - almost - defensive position they had fallen into. “Yes! Yes, peace,” Ya’ada answers hurriedly with a ruffle of their feathers. 

…Right. He chuckles awkwardly, his eyes skipping between the aliens. Each of them seem to be making a point to avoid his gaze, although that’s fairly normal at this point. When he finally focuses back on Sho’a, they look a little more relaxed. They bob their head at him, and he guesses that it’s supposed to be some kind of ‘everything is fine’ message. Then, they turn to look back at the others and say something quickly in Common. 

Oriri’vry steps forward next and speaks slowly, placing a three-fingered hand on their chest in a mimicry of when Izuku told them his name. “Ur’aka. Ur-ah-kah.”

Izuku repeats the name back to them, their name falling from his lips easily. The sounds that make up their name sound a lot like the Common words he knows. Perhaps they were never taught their native language, only Common, or maybe their native language just sounds a lot like Common. He has no way of knowing either way, not until he learns the language more fluently. That’ll be a bit of a trial and error situation. 

Especially since Izuku is not the best when it comes to language. He tried learning Spanish a handful of times, and every single attempt ended in a spectacular defeat. He’d like to call himself fluent in English, but, if he’s being honest, he never managed to nail down all the grammar rules. English is way too complicated; the sentence structure makes no sense to him and there are too many words for one thing yet not nearly enough for others. Not to mention all the rules they made up that they sometimes decide to just… toss straight out the window. 

A rumbling purr of approval draws his attention back to the others. Izuku resists the urge to beam at how successful he’s been with pronunciations so far, instead looking to… Ur’aka? He’s pretty sure that’s right, but he wants to make sure. He studies her face, which has flooded with a purplish color. He tilts his head, intrigued. Embarrassment doesn’t make a lot of sense, but, then again, a blush’s meaning might differ between species. Perhaps, for Oriri’vry’s, it’s a sign of happiness or approval. The thought makes the corners of his mouth twitch up ever so slightly. 

“To’roki.”  Izuku resists the urge to jump when the new, low voice reaches his ears. He turns to face Mx. Candy Cane, who, it seems, has decided to ‘volunteer as tribute’. Without any fanfare, they jumped straight into introducing themself. They didn’t even bother to enunciate for me , he realizes as he narrows his eyes. So, they clearly aren’t particularly friendly. Duly noted. At least they aren’t overly hostile - that’s still a win in Izuku’s book. 

Although, it feels like a little less of a win when Watts flaps their hands up and down, their eyes wide. A small arc of electricity flies from one of their antennae to the other, and the energy they exude almost makes him want to join in. “I Kam'nari,” they say, their voice carrying despite their small stature. Then, with a small, excited hop, they tack on a short phrase. Their voice remains light, but he can’t imagine that they already forgot about his very limited vocabulary. 

He stares at them for a few long moments, doing his best to silently get the message across that I have no clue what you just said and waiting for understanding to flash across Watts’ - or rather, Kam’nari’s - features. 

So, he waits. And waits. Except that their moment of realization never comes. Instead, Kam’nari turns to face To’roki, who stares blankly enough that Izuku wonders if they, too, did not understand what Kam’nari said. Kam’nari lowers their head without bending forward, deliberate enough that Izuku can tell it’s for show. Probably. “I Kam’nari, you?” 

Izuku tilts his head, looking at Sho’a, who just directs his gaze back to the pair with a quick flick of one of their tails. Kam’nari exchanges a few words with To’roki, who just exhales heavily before responding with words Izuku recognizes. “I To’roki,” they say. The statement is then followed with a string of words; the same string of words , Izuku realizes with a quiet intake of breath, that Kam’nari said after introducing themself. 

It sounds like… is it a greeting? Could Kam’nari be teaching him Common? 

Izuku sits up straighter, trying to contain his bubbling excitement. “Yes, yes!” 

“Yes?” Izuku smiles, holding up his good hand to cover his mouth. Kam’nari steps closer to the bars, repeating the words slowly and enunciating each one. Izuku supposes it’s pretty much the same as saying ‘nice to meet you’ or something along those lines. He doesn’t recognize any of the words in the phrase - sentence? It might not have a direct translation, or perhaps it does, but, if so, ‘nice to meet you’ can’t be quite right.  

Suppressing his smile, Izuku pulls his hand away from his mouth and does his best to replicate the sounds. It’s a little harder than repeating a word; there’s more to focus on, and it’s difficult to remember exactly where the dips and pauses are. There are a lot of hard stops in Common, which makes it hard to learn. Most human languages seem to flow together, passing in a seamless river of sound, especially when spoken fluently. Common is more like an engine refusing to start. 

After two fumbled first tries, he looks back at Kam’nari expectantly, moving his hands around each other in a circular motion. Kam’nari stares at his hands, looking a bit lost, and Izuku pauses. Obviously none of the typical gestures are going to be the same, dumbass, he thinks to himself, the urge to slap himself suddenly very strong. 

He frowns, instead pointing at Kam’nari’s mouth and then hesitantly waving again. Maybe they’ll get the picture now; otherwise, he has no other ideas for nonverbal communication. 

An arc of electricity sparks between Kam’nari’s antennae again, which he’s starting to understand must be some expression of excitement. They tap their foot a few times, a… confirmation? Then they repeat the first half of the phrase, enunciating slowly. Izuku closes his eyes to focus on the sounds, trying to piece together where he went wrong the first two times. 

After a moment, he opens his eyes again and repeats what the bunny-look-alike said, rather proud of himself when it turns out to be near-perfect. Izuku wiggles in place from excitement, staring at Kam’nari intensely, waiting for them to move on to the second half. With another few taps of their foot, Kam’nari eagerly finishes the phrase. This part is easier and sounds a little more smooth. It’s more familiar, and Izuku parrots it back with a confident nod. 

“Yes, Mi’oria!” Kam’nari exclaims. The electricity between their antennae sparks brightly, and To’roki jerks away from them. They say something short and quick in Common, pulling a quiet response from Kam’nari that is followed by an odd sort of coughing sound. To’roki slumps as they spin, moving over to the bars on his right and away from Kam’nari and the rest of the aliens. 

Ya’ada squawks, drawing Izuku’s eyes away from To’roki. Once they know they have his attention, they make a clicking sound in the back of their throat and then look up toward the ceiling. Izuku looks up, only seeing the ceiling, and turns his eyes back to Ya’ada. After a few seconds, they, too, look back at him, and say something in Common. This time, Izuku catches on to what they are doing a little faster, and he repeats the word back. 

He furrows his brows after he gets the affirming purr from Sho’a, trying to figure out what the word might mean. He glances up again. Is it “ceiling”? It could be metal, but they only gestured to the ceiling, so that doesn’t make much sense. He tilts his head deliberately at Ya’ada, repeating the word with a questioning tone. 

Ya’ada and Sho’a meet each other’s gazes for a moment before Sho’a steps forward. They look to their left, another word in common reaching his ears. Then, they turn to their right and say yet another new word. Did they just give up on the last thing? Were they trying to teach him “bars” now? He stares at Sho’a, taking a breath with the intent of finding a word to help communicate his lack of understanding, but the alien isn’t finished. They shift their body away from them, to the left and toward the path to the door, and repeat the sequence. Izuku blinks at them, racking his brain. If it was just “bars”, turning around and repeating the whole song and dance wouldn’t have made sense. 

Sho’a turns again, facing the back wall, and delivers the same two words, again. When they finish, Sho’a turns to face Izuku again, sitting down, and waiting for Izuku to… copy them? Izuku faces his left and thinks of the word, facing the right and thinking the second. Everytime So’a turned, their eyes were looking at something different than “bars” and “wall”. He does it again, looking to his left, and then his right, and then it’s as if someone turned on the lights. They are quite literally saying “left” and “right”. 

Directions. 

So if the second and third word are “left” and “right”, then the first one must be “up”! Izuku, after finally realizing what’s happening, smacks himself in the forehead. Hard. He’s pretty sure he has a red spot now. Oh god, he must seem like a total dumbass to the aliens. 

Listen. He’s tired, okay? It’s been a long day. 

Izuku massages the bridge of his nose, heaving out a heavy, drawn out sigh. After a moment to completely regret his entire existence, Izuku looks back up at the aliens, jerking back at the sight of their distress. Sho’a’s ears are pinned down, and they look like they froze mid-step towards him. On the other hand, Ya’ada has their feathers puffed out like a very alarmed bird that was just jumpscared seconds before taking flight. Even To’roki is staring at him now, their face scrunched up and mouth slightly parted, and - is that frost on their right side? Where did that come from? It’s not even that cold in here. Frost shouldn’t be possible. 

Kam’nari makes a throaty noise that doesn’t sound quite like Common. Izuku turns to watch him, hoping for some kind of explanation. They point to their own forehead and then point at Izuku, before tilting their head to the side. “You fight you?”

…Do what now? For a few seconds, Izuku stays silent, thinking that he must have misinterpreted the words. “I no fight,” he finally settles on. 

Kam’nari, determined, repeats themself. “You fight you,” they declare as they mimic smacking their forehead. Izuku mimes the motion back at them, his eyebrows lowering for a second as he repeats the words in his head. Realization hits him just about the same time as the embarrassment does. They don’t realize why he smacked his forehead, they think he’s hurting himself! Well, to be fair, they aren’t exactly wrong. He did smack himself pretty hard. 

“I…” of all words for him not to know, ‘okay’ has to be one of the worst. “I no fight,” he decides to go with. He taps his forehead a few times to emphasize the lack of physical injury marring his skin. Well - his forehead is a little sore, sure, but they don’t need to know that.  

He clears his throat awkwardly, his fingers tapping together. They look a little more relaxed, but the blatant staring isn’t very reassuring. Izuku abruptly turns to the left, repeating the word and the sequence of movements to demonstrate his understanding, hoping to move on from the awkward mess that was that interaction. He replicates the action in the only other two directions he knows: right and up. Izuku then tilts his head down until his chin touches his chest and falls silent, peeking up at the aliens underneath his eyelashes. 

Sho’a catches on much faster than Izuku did, which causes his ears to heat up in embarrassment all over again. He elects to keep his eyes steadily on Sho’a in an attempt to avoid what he’s sure are confused stares - if they noticed the redness staining his features, that is. The other copies him, looking down, speaking another word in Common. It means down, of course, and Izuku dutifully repeats it back to them. 

“Up, down, left, right,” Izuku continues after the rumble of confirmation from Sho’a. He repeats the sounds a few more times under his breath, pairing them with the other words he knows, burning them all into his brain. If Izuku wants to survive out here long enough to escape and go home, he needs to know the language. Bad language skills or not, Izuku has no other choice in the matter. He can’t forget a single sound, a single word, or a single non-verbal gesture. 

He exhales heavily, a headache blooming behind his temples. He needed to buckle down and soak up any snippet of Common he could get his hands on, and now was the time to do it. With a clenched jaw and hardened resolve, Izuku focuses back on the group in front of him. A few of them have gotten distracted, whispering to each other in hushed tones or studying their surroundings boredly. Sho’a and Ya’ada, however, are still watching him calmly, and that’s all he needs. 

He meets their eyes for a few seconds before turning toward the door and pointing at it. He looks back at the two, tilting his head. He’s fairly certain that at this point they’ve caught on to what the motion means. Sho’a looks between him and the door a few times, his ears flicking. He says something, and, after a pause, says something else. Izuku isn’t sure if the two are supposed to be what ‘door’ means, but he has a feeling they’re just a little confused, as he was. 

Izuku lifts his hands until they are upright, doing his best to avoid jostling his sprained wrist. He holds them out flat in front of him. He then mimics the motion of the door, sliding his right hand behind his left. His hands drop back to his sides once he’s done, and he watches them with an expectant stare while he resists massaging the area around his wrist. Luckily, Ya’ada seems to grasp the concept after another glance back to the door, and he reiterated the first word - at least, he thinks so anyways - Sho’a had said previously. The skin around Izuku’s eyes crinkle in a mock smile, and he echoes the sounds. The more words he learns, he finds, the easier it becomes to replicate the accent. 

Ya’ada whistles sharply, and the scattered whispering comes to a sudden halt. Once they have everyone’s attention, Ya’ada scans the others. Their eyes quickly find Kam’nari, who they beckon over with a sweeping motion. Kam’nari walks away from Ur’aka, where they both migrated away from Sho’a and Ya’ada to mutter to each other. 

Ya’ada exchanges a few words, Kam’nari bouncing from foot to foot in clear excitement the longer Ya’ada speaks. They go back and forth a few times, Izuku watching, intrigued with whatever they seem to be planning. Kam’nari turns during a pause and calls for Ur’aka, who moves over to join the small group. Iida and To’roki stay by the bars, watching but not participating. He is unsurprised; it fits in with what he knows of their personalities. 

After a few more back and forths, they seem to settle on a plan, and they move into position for… whatever it is. Kam’nari and Ur’aka move behind Ya’ada, and their faces shift into a harder expression. Meaner, almost. They hold their arms up as if holding something, and shove Ya’ada forward, who stumbles a little before moving slowly. Ya’ada holds a more reserved - almost submissive - demeanor. They walk slowly, stumbling everytime Kam’nari or Ur’aka shove their arms forward, despite never touching Ya’ada. They do this all the way across the cage before they seem to deem their performance as complete, and everyone turns to Izuku. 

Sho’a gestures with two of their tails towards Ur’aka and Kam’nari, saying a single word in Common. Izuku is proud to say he thinks he catches on pretty quickly. He says the word back, the syllables easily rolling off his tongue. He points to the door to the hallway, following the word he thinks is ‘guard’ with, “Danger?”  

“Yes,” Kam’nari replies, a foot once again thumping rapidly against the ground. “Yes, Mi’oria, guard danger!” The corners of his eyes crinkle again, the corners of his lips tilting up. At least he’s catching on faster now. The others seem to agree with Izuku’s elation - especially Kam’nari, if the fact that their foot hasn’t stopped thumping says anything. 

That is, until, just like that, they stop. Their eyes widen in realization and Kam’nari whips back around to face Ur’aka. Again, they exchange a few words that end with Ur’aka’s cheeks blossoming with a purple color again. She steps to the side and watches Kam’nari, who waits for a few seconds before saying something. It sounds like a command, and Ur’aka takes it as one. She starts moving suddenly, crossing the cell, until Kam’nari says something else. After the second command, she freezes, halting in the middle of the cell. 

It only takes a round or two of this for Izuku to catch on, understanding the words as ‘stop’ and ‘go’. Handy. He’s about to respond to assure them he understands, if only so they can continue with more new words, but Izuku is distracted by the sound of the cell block door starting to click open. Almost simultaneously, Izuku and Sho’a both say, “Guard,” except Sho’a’s comes off slightly differently; probably the plural version of the word, if he had to guess. As Izuku has come to expect, the entire group of aliens crowd into the farthest corner from the door - and from Izuku - with Sho’a and Ya’ada standing in front of the others defensively. 

The door slides open, and Izuku stands up, backing away until he’s just a few inches from the wall. 

The guards from earlier march into the room, the two bigger ones taking the lead. Outcast walks between the giants, stomping angrily but not resisting. Their eyes stay focused on the ground in front of them, but every time they glance up, they direct a hate-filled glare at their escorts. T-Rex - dubbed as such because of their stocky nature and proportionally tiny arms - and Monkey, whose fur and dragging arms remind him of the tree-dwellers back home, pull Outcast to a stop so that Volts can squeeze past. Volts unlocks the door to Outcast’s cell and steps aside, their electricity sparking dangerously as they glare at the group inside. 

Outcast stumbles into the cell, pushed forward by Monkey, and the door slams shut. Outcast turns on their heel, teeth bared, a low growl emerging from their throat, but Sho’a barks something quick and sharp in Common. It’s some kind of command, clearly, if the way that Outcast reluctantly backs down is any indication. 

Volts slams their fist against the bars with a scowl, filling the room with a loud clang that causes Iida and Sho’a to flinch, before turning to face Izuku. He tenses when Volts steps up to his cell door, his throat tight. What’s going on? Volts snaps something at the others, and the two bigger guards step up to flank Volts. Izuku, try as he might, finds himself unable to resist the flinch that jerks his body when some kind of stone-like plates emerge from under Monkey’s skin, sliding out to stack on top of each other in a mockery of armor from the Renaissance Era. 

His eyes dart between the guards frantically. He tries to slide back a step further, but his heel bumps against the wall behind him. Are they coming into his cell? Why are they coming into his cell? A lump catches in his throat, and he bends his knees in a poor imitation of a defensive stance. He isn’t sure how to prepare for this, especially when he doesn’t know what this is. 

Beeeep. Volts’ wrist slides through the air, gliding past the small sensor on the door of his cell. 

Click. The lock releases. Maintaining eye contact, T-Rex swings the door open, using one of their six legs to take a big lumbering step into the cell. 

Chapter Text

Shinso Hitoshi is ready to knock some fucking heads together. Quite literally. 

He’s been kidnapped by mother fucking aliens, caged like an animal, and faced borderline abuse. But that’s not all - no, of course that’s not all. On top of all that, he’s being forced to run on no fucking sleep for at least two and a half days. He’s tired, he’s hungry, and he’s ready to go on a murder spree. He swears the moment he gets out of this tiny ass cage, he’s gonna punt the little yellow one like a football. Then he’s going straight for the big one that looks a little like a giant cat - a fact that he refuses to acknowledge due to his absolute adoration of cats. This demon could never live up to the legacy of such angels. 

A glimpse of silver catches his eye, and he whips to the right to face the sole source of all his pain and suffering . Asshole saunters up to the cage warily, dark brown fur standing on end as their tails - which are still adorned with those stupid spiked metal cuffs - wave agitatedly through the air. Great, fantastic, Bitch is back for another round of pissing him off. Hitoshi sits up straight - or as straight as he can in his shoebox of a cage - and glares at Fuckface as they stop in front of him. The stupid energizer bunny tails after them, eyeing Hitoshi like he’s the asshole. He bares his teeth, one of the only sure-fire techniques he knows will unsettle the alien bastards. 

He’s rewarded with the full body shiver from the ninety-nine cent joy buzzer. 

Ass Kisser slams one of their tails against the top of the cage, the sound of metal striking metal leaving a persistent ringing in his ears. After being jolted awake by the noise all night, it sets off a pavlovian desire to go on a rampage. Knowing he can’t maneuver very well, he tries to settle for slamming his boot against the bars. The noise, much less annoying than Knock off Scar’s, leaves him unsatisfied and with no less of an urge to rip their head off. 

He’s still fantasizing about all the ways he'll exact his revenge against Insecure Swamp Ferret - horrible, bloody fantasies because he’s hit the limit on his nice-meter - when footsteps reach his ears. Normally, this wouldn’t be surprising, as he knows that there are more aliens on the ship aside from the two currently harassing him. However, the purpose with which the nearing footsteps walk concerns him almost as much as the quantity. The beats are rhythmic, overlapping to form a dread-conjuring chorus. It’s different and unexpected, and the last time something was different and unexpected, he was kidnapped from a school exercise and shoved into this cramped, maddening hell. 

God he hates it here. 

The creatures that walk around the corner are no less terrifying than the aliens that have tormented him thus far, and he’s forced to resist the urge to laugh at the comfort he finds in the consistency. At least none of them are friend-shaped. Well, except for Eye-Watering Muppet Stain, but they’re the personification of an aneurysm , so they don’t count.

One of the new ones - the tall red monkey mother fucker - steps up next to the other two while the second nears the bars of his cage. The alien closest to him looks strangely similar to the illustrations of “extra-terrestrial beings” that have been circling the internet for decades. The extra set of arms is one of the only differences, and it throws him off. He watches them, letting the adrenaline rush into his veins and shoving down the anxiety that threatens to lodge in his throat. He has no way of knowing what’s about to happen, but they’re almost acting like they’re going to let him out. He’ll take whatever chance he can get; he doesn’t care why it’s granted. 

I’m ready. Open the cage. Let me out, cowards. Hitoshi is ready to go apeshit.

Hitoshi shifts slowly, easing his legs underneath him so he can make a quick break for it the moment the cage is open. He already has a plan of action. He’s going to lunge out the cage like the wild animal they’ve been treating him as, shoulder check the weird ass ape, and take off towards freedom while the aliens are disoriented. Then all he’ll have to do is find some sort of escape pod, get the fuck out of here, and - well, he’s not sure what comes after that, but he’ll figure it out. He has to. 

That’s what he tells himself over and over again, even mumbling it under his breath. The puny alien that approached him raises their arm above their head and reaches toward a black disc mounted on the bars of the cage. A click seems to echo in the silent room, and all is still. Until it isn’t. 

The booming BANG that follows Hitoshi’s lunging escape from imprisonment is so loud an ache forms at his temples. He collides with the monkey, who yelps as they hit the floor. It’s satisfying, more satisfying than it should be considering that Hitoshi has never met this one before, except - oh, shit. That’s not the monkey.  

Hitoshi rears back as Crack Obsessed… dammit he’s running out of insults - snaps their teeth in his face. He doesn’t have time for this, he needs to get rid of the monkey and run. One of the Muppet’s - God, is he reusing insults now? He can’t believe he’s fallen so far - tails smack against the floor, metal ringing out against metal, and Hitoshi allows the rage to consume him. Almost with a mind of its own, Hitoshi’s hand strikes out, his thumb digging into one of… Dim-Witted Hot Dog’s - there we go, at least he got one - eyes. Any and all reservation he might have had about causing permanent damage is long gone, and it’s shockingly easy to sink his finger deep into the socket. The alien pinned below him lets out an ear-piercing shriek, using their front paws to finally shove Hitoshi off of them and to the floor before curling up in a ball of agony. He tries to dive back toward… the demon - mother fucker , now is the perfect time for a perfect insult - finding himself to be less affected by the blood pouring from their face than he’s sure he should be. 

However, arms lock around him from behind, pinning his limbs to his sides and holding him in place. 

He throws his body weight forward to throw the alien behind him off balance, but it doesn’t work. When he glances down, he can see why. The arms around him are covered in a hard plating, layered over each other in such a way that no vulnerable skin peeks through. A snarl curls his lips upward as he raises his arms as much as he can, digging, digging, digging his nails into the plates but getting nowhere. His fingers catch on one of the plates’ edges, and he runs with it, yanking at it mercilessly, trying to pull it off to get to the soft skin below. 

Somewhere in the back of his mind, buried beneath the rage and the desperation, horror at his own actions builds, stewing and simmering and ready to overflow, but he’s too far gone to care. 

The monkey - who he has just realized is the one holding him hostage - releases a low, pained grunt, and some kind of tired success leaks into Hitoshi’s veins, renewing his determination. He struggles more desperately, intent on escaping this prison, intent on never going back to that tiny little hell in which he could barely move - when pain explodes across his forehead. Hitoshi cries out, releasing the plate and trying to cover the gash, blood dripping down over his eyes and effectively blinding him. 

He wants to cry. He wants to scream. 

He wants to go home.

But he can’t do any of those things. So, instead, he hates. He hates, he hates, he hates , because he saw those stupid fucking spikes dart across his vision, a smear of blood - his blood - on the end of one of the spikes, and he knows exactly whose fault this is. He hates that he knows he won’t get another chance at revenge. He tries to take morbid joy in the fact that he knows the fucker will, without a doubt, be blind in their right eye, a mark forever left on them by none other Shinso fucking Hitoshi. He fails. 

Panic rises in his throat as he thrashes, desperate to be free from the arms locking him in. He won’t go back in the cage, he can’t , he won’t go back. He’d rather die fighting than return to the fucking kennel they shoved him into. Hitoshi thinks he would genuinely prefer old school torture over that. Anything but that. 

Hitoshi is stopped dead in his tracks as his body seizes up, his throat closing up and his muscles spasming. It only lasts for a second - barely half a moment - but it’s more than enough to snap him out of his thoughts. His nightmares. 

Hitoshi peels open his left eye, blinking several times to try to flick the already drying blood from his lashes. He glares at the bunny, jerking his leg forward to try and punt the little bastard like he promised himself, but they’re too far away, just outside of his reach. He clenches his jaw, his teeth snapping together. He just feels so… helpless. He hates everything about this: the hopelessness, the fear, the anger. 

Movement catches his eye, and he does his best to turn his head to watch what he has elected to refer to as the stereotypical alien take a step towards him. They yank four circular metal pieces from their flowy pants, holding one in their top two hands and the other three in their lower hands. Hitoshi has no idea what those are, but he’s not about to find out. 

Hitoshi swings his legs wildly, trying to keep the stereotypical alien at bay. “Stay the fuck away from me!” he screeches desperately, barely even ashamed of the voice crack that spikes at the end of his sentence. “I’ll gouge out your eyes, you hear me, you creepy mother fucker? Just like I did to that other guy! You really want - get your hands off of me,” he spits, breaths fast and panicked through clenched teeth. 

He’s not entirely sure how he forgot about the extra arms, but two more wrap around his legs, holding him still even as he strains against the grip. The stereotypical alien quickly snaps on the first circular metal thing around his left wrist, backing away as Hitoshi lunges forward, snapping his teeth in their face in a mockery of what Drooling Sludge Toad did to him. It feels much less threatening than when Rotten Tofu Barnacle did it, but at least the stereotypical alien steps away from him. 

The monkey’s arms tighten around him, squeezing the air out of his lungs. Hitoshi wheezes, twitching and losing some of his fight for a moment, long enough for the stereotypical alien to snap another cuff around his right wrist. The arms loosen and Hitoshi sucks in a desperate gasp of air, hacking and coughing as he renews his attempts to get free. Now that he knows the monkey can quite literally squeeze the life out of him, he refuses to allow the aliens to keep him prisoner for any longer. 

Or that’s his thought process up until the moment his wrists are forced together by a strong magnet within the cuffs. They collide with a clang, the jolt so harsh it rattles his bones all the way up to his skull. He jinxes himself with a realization. Oh, I can just slip out. It’s innocent enough; the circular metal cuffs are too big to stay on his hands for long, but his rising hope is quickly squashed when they suddenly tighten to just before the point of discomfort.

His shock paired with his inability to move his wrists even an inch apart makes it easy for the stereotypical alien to dart forward, clasping the last two around his ankles. He realizes what they are doing a second too late, and the magnets activate. The effect is much less drastic, but it is there nonetheless and impossible to resist. His feet refuse to move more than two feet apart, and his arms are yanked down toward his legs, forced straight in an attempt to reach as far as possible without bending over. Thankfully, they don’t force him any lower, or he wouldn’t be able to move at all, which would be arguably worse than going back to the cage. 

He… kind of wants to go back to the cage now. At least there, his arms could bend and lift; now, he can’t even muster enough strength to raise his hands. He’s effectively hogtied, without being forced into a ball. He finds himself mildly relieved at the fact that he can still stand up straight, but he presumes that the only reason is so that he can walk on his own. He releases a shaky sigh, inspecting the cuffs. They’re probably a dumb thing to find so fascinating, but really, how can he not be a little bit mesmerized by the advanced technology? Even if it means he’s rendered vulnerable and defenseless, it’s still kind of cool to see alien technology first hand.

It’d be better if he wasn’t being held prisoner by a bunch of cowardly space pirates. 

Hitoshi allows some of the tension to melt from his body. As much as he hates to admit it, he’s at their mercy now, and he has a feeling they don’t have much mercy to spare. Besides… it’s not like he can do much right now. His mouth twists into a scowl, his tongue souring with disappointment. What did he honestly expect to get out of a struggle? He knows that maybe, just maybe , if he stuck to his original plan and just bolted, he could have gotten away. But, as the eye he can still see out of lands on Flimsy Pencil Stick - wow, his creativity is really running dry today -  still curling up on the ground, whimpering and whining, he can’t bring himself to regret it. 

Carefully, the monkey lowers him to the ground. When his feet hit the floor, he resists the urge to spring away, hyper aware of the vice-like grip they still have on his arm. He’s out of tricks, and the best musicians know when it’s time to end their acts. 

The air is calm for the first time in several minutes, and the silence makes way for quiet whimpering to cut into their minds. Hitoshi doesn’t watch Slimy Fish Face, but he can see them out of the corner of his eye as Hitoshi stares down the stereotypical alien. They are still curled up on the floor, their paws drawn up to rest on their face. The blurry view doesn’t give him the ability to make out many details, but there’s enough red to tell him more than enough. He bites his tongue to prevent a satisfied smirk from hijacking his lips. 

Hitoshi focuses back on the stereotypical alien, who is now barking orders at the others. They are clearly the highest in command at the moment, a fact which just serves to make him hate them that much more. If he gets another shot, they’re getting punted first. The bunny won’t be far behind, and then he’s going after the monkey.

When he makes no move to attack again, the stereotypical alien pulls out something small, flat, and in the shape of a square. It reminds him of an old school cell phone, except much smaller. They press a few times on the screen before speaking into it, rapidfire Common flowing from their mouth. 

Hitoshi stares down the stereotypical alien, not even letting himself blink, delighting in their discomfort as they shift from foot to foot.

No one moves for a few excruciatingly long minutes while Hitoshi continues to stare the stereotypical alien down, hyper aware of the tight grip the monkey has on his arm. He watches as the aliens’ anxiety begins to reach its peak by his unnerving stillness, broken only by footsteps coming down the hallway reaching their ears. Hitoshi resists the urge to back away from the corner that he knows the newcomer - or, worse, newcomers - will emerge from, instead electing to continue remaining perfectly still. The only visible change presents itself in his eyes, which he flicks to the right to keep an eye on the corner. The footsteps echo off the metal walls, slowly getting louder as whoever and whatever they are gets closer. 

The stereotypical alien keeps checking their little black device, getting increasingly agitated as the seconds tick by. When the newcomer finally rounds the corner, the stereotypical alien huffs in frustration and puts the device away. He only has a few seconds to revel in their disappointment before his eyes are drawn to the newcomer. They look very frost-bitten, is the first thought that pops into his head. He precedes to note, with a twitch of his lips, That can’t be pleasant. 

They walk on two feet, akin to a human, with small, pure white scales across their body. They look like an overgrown lizard. Their… nose? Snout? - extends from their face, long sharp teeth peeking out from their mouth. The stereotypical alien spits out harsh words, the language flowing oddly and almost stilted at times, and the lizard merely snarls in response before walking towards Hitoshi. Hitoshi shifts his feet involuntarily at the approach, the first movement he’s made since the end of their little scuffle. 

In response, the monkey’s grip tightens further, and if Hitoshi wasn’t sure it was going to bruise before, he certainly is now. The bones in his upper arm creak, and he winces, barely noticing the - what seem to be either long nails or short claws - digging into his skin. This has to be a record for the amount of people he wants to beat the shit out of in one place. 

Hitoshi’s jaw clenches, his teeth grinding together. He bites back the urge to flinch away as the lizard draws close enough to reach forward, grabbing Hitoshi’s free - well, ‘free’ - arm. Their fingers are freezing to the touch, and this time, Hitoshi can’t resist a sharp inhale. His eyes widen as he looks down at their grip, registering the frost that has spread almost an inch from the lizard’s hand. 

His attention snaps away from the sting of the cold across his bicep when the stereotypical alien starts snapping commands again, this time at Adolf Titler. They stumble to their feet - uh, paws? - slowly, keeping their head low as they limp past Hitoshi, glaring at him with their one good eye. Hitoshi allows a predatory smile to stretch across his lips, and he doesn’t lunge, but he does clack his teeth together in mockery of a bite. They scurry faster around the corner and away from Hitoshi, and honestly, he’ll take it. He has no idea what these aliens want but at least one of them is scared of him now. 

He grunts as he is yanked forward by the monkey and the lizard, who have suddenly decided that now is a good time to start moving. With zero warning whatsoever. He hears the stereotypical alien and the bunny fall into step behind them, but when he tries to glance back, he is jerked hard enough to nearly throw him off of his feet. He huffs quietly, shuffling forward with steps just short of his normal stride, unable to step any further because of these stupid fucking restraints . 

The walk through the halls is winding and long, and he quickly loses any sense of direction that he tried to cling to when they started. He can’t tell if they are purposefully trying to confuse him or if the ship is just that weirdly structured on its own. He assumes the latter. He doesn’t think they’re smart enough to try to do anything that requires more than a basic level of intellectual prowess. 

Hitoshi’s arms throb and eyes ache with the brightness of the walls by the time the sound of more people reaches his ears. Unable to rub away the blurriness in his vision, Hitoshi almost doesn’t notice the group of aliens coming in their direction. They seem to be escorting another prisoner, their bright green coloring peeking out from in between another monkey motherfucker and an absolute behemoth of an alien. As they approach, the prisoner stumbles, barely stopping themself from face planting. They pause, and it’s only for a moment, but it’s apparently a moment too long. The monkey shoves them hard enough to send them to the floor, their knees cracking against the floor and their restrained arms just barely managing to catch them. 

Hold on. Knees? Arms? 

The prisoner raises their head to glare at the guards, climbing to their feet, and Hitoshi’s heart stutters because that’s a human. That is a whole ass human. A human! And they look about Hitoshi’s age, wearing the same uniform the rest of his grade had to wear aboard the Anchor. The jacket’s missing, the clothes are a bit rumpled, and they’re covered in what look like injuries from a fight, but Hitoshi is sure he doesn’t look any better. 

The other human looks forward and locks eyes with Hitoshi, vaguely familiar green eyes widening in shock. Breathlessly, Hitoshi mutters in the suddenly too quiet hallway, “Holy shit, you’re human.”

“Holy shit, you’re from Kuip-” Greenie is cut off by a smack to the back of his head, and red floods Hitoshi’s vision all over again. 

The guards start shouting - at Hitoshi, at Greenie, or at each other, it’s hard to tell - as Hitoshi thrashes in the aliens’ grasp. Twisting his body towards the monkey holding him, he slams his elbow into their gut, as hard as he possibly can in his minimal range. He does everything he can possibly think of, just to break free and reach familiar language and human interaction. Hitoshi raises a foot as high as his restraints allow it to slam into the lizard’s foot, barely loosening their grip in the process. 

He realizes too late that while Hitoshi was struggling against his own guards, Greenie’s guards have been trying to drag them past him. Greenie hasn’t been putting up much of a fight, simply staring at Hitoshi, shock evident in their eyes. Hitoshi lunges toward them as they pass, trying to reach them, but the bunny takes advantage of his distraction. His body locks up with the electric charge that courses through his body, and the monkey utilizes the opening made for them, tackling him from the side. He lands harshly, a wheezing breath forced out from his lungs, and he gasps desperately for air. 

The attack finally snaps Greenie out of their stupor and they twist their arm suddenly, yanking it out of the behemoth’s hold. The monkey near them - monkey 2.0, if you will - doesn’t let go, but, for whatever reason, their plates aren’t covering their body, and they stumble when Greenie takes a few desperate steps in Hitoshi’s direction. Greenie turns back to face them, just as the armored plates begin to slide out from under their skin - which, gross - and stomps on their foot seconds before it can be protected. With a sharp gasp, their grip loosens, and Greenie rips away from them. 

Motion to the right catches Hitoshi’s attention, and he watches, a bit helplessly, as the other bunny darts forward. He tries to shout a warning, but he still can’t breathe , and his throat feels locked up. It’s over in seconds, and Greenie hits the ground with a pained groan, taken down in a manner nearly identical to Hitoshi. He isn’t sure what he was thinking, really. He knew he wouldn’t be able to do much, not with eight guards concentrated in one area, but he hadn’t been able to help himself. He hisses as he’s suddenly pulled up, his breath having finally come back to him as his arm is nearly yanked out of its socket. 

On instinct, he starts trying to pull away again, but he’s stopped by the breathless sound of Greenie’s voice. “Stop! Stop, you’ll only injure yourself more.” 

“What do you want me to do? They could be taking us to our deaths-” 

“They aren’t! At least, not you. There’s only one place that this hallway leads to, and I was just there. It’s safe, I promise!” 

“I can’t just leave-” Hitoshi is cut off when the lizard grabs the back of his neck, a choked sound escaping his throat at the cold that radiates from the area. 

“Yes, you can. You have to.” He meets Greenie’s eyes, sees the command woven into the glare. This time, when the monkey grabs him to lead him away, he doesn’t resist. 

“If you die, I won’t forgive you!” he calls over his shoulder. 

He barely catches the huffed “You don’t even know me” that echoes through the hallway in response before they turn the corner, effectively cutting him off from contact with Greenie. 

Hitoshi’s mind instantly begins racing. When they escape, if they escape, they will need some supplies. Not to mention the fact that the fight ended with both of them even more scraped up than before, and even minor injuries can be detrimental. He isn’t about to lose the only human he might see for - God knows how long - to an infection. He’ll need bandages, some disinfectant, possibly stitches for his head wound? That won’t be pleasant to deal with later.

Wait a minute. His head wound. His head wound, which almost certainly looks way worse than it actually is right now. His head wound, from which blood is still dripping into his eyes. The lizard pushes him forward to start walking, and Hitoshi takes the opportunity to fake a stumble. Well, sort of faked, given these bindings are limiting his range. 

He makes an aborted motion with his hands to his head, even curling forward as he stumbles once more before allowing his legs to give out on him. His knees clang! on the metal floor, causing him to wince as sharp pains run up his thighs from the impact. Probably more dramatic than he needs to be, Hitoshi rolls his eyes up into the back of his head and falls forward, twisting his head to the side to avoid a broken nose. Although, after how loud the impact was, he’s a little worried about his cheekbone.

The aliens begin shouting as Hitoshi lays ‘unconscious’ on the floor. He makes sure to stay completely relaxed, his body dead weight, as hands grab under his arms and around his ankles. It’s hard to stay completely immobile as he’s lifted off the ground, his head falling backwards. He assumes it’s the monkey who hauls him over their shoulder because their skin isn’t cold against his, and the other two are too small to carry him like this. Imagining those two tiny aliens dragging him across the floor as they struggled to carry him is almost too much to keep from reacting to. The aliens walk briskly, a constant argument bouncing off the walls and into his skull. 

Carefully, slowly, Hitoshi risks peeking open an eye to watch their progress. He manages to discern the hallway, as they pass, that they came from and that Greenie disappeared into.After that however, the identical closed doors blur together, becoming inconveniently disorienting. One door has a lot of conversation - or at least he assumes so - coming from it, so his best guess is that it's some type of common room, or maybe a sleeping quarters. He would wager that it’s something with high foot traffic. Whatever it is, it’ll be good to note for future reference.

The aliens come to a stop, and Hitoshi closes his eyes again as a door is opened with a long beep that is followed by some clicking noises. The monkey walks through the door, and Hitoshi has to bite his tongue when they smack his side into the doorframe. Hands hold the back of his head as he’s lowered surprisingly gently - especially considering his now tender hip - onto what seems like a metal slab. A few more words are exchanged between the aliens before the footsteps retreat and the door slams shut. The sound of clicking and a beep, a sound that Hitoshi has come to hate, reverberates through the room, and Hitoshi is left in silence. 

Without warning, his cuffs suddenly seem to deactivate, a fact that he revels in, wondering if it is a technological error, until he realizes that the metal themselves are still as tight around his wrists and ankles as ever. He knows that this likely means that all of the guards have left the room, but he still elects to count to sixty in his head to be sure the coast is clear. Then, he slowly peels his eyes open. 

The first thing he notices is that he’s completely alone in a very empty room. The only furniture in the room is the large metal table that he’s laying on, as well as a few locked cabinets on the far side of the room. Slowly, as to avoid making any unintentional noise, Hitoshi rolls off the table and gently stands on the balls of his feet. It’s a little more uncomfortable with the regulation combat boots the school requires them to wear at the station, but he has to make do. He has no idea when the aliens will come back, and he needs to be back on the table the way they laid him down in the first place. 

There are a few innocuous… boxes or crates or whatever they actually are lined up on the floor in front of the cabinets, seemingly welded to the floor to prevent someone like him from using it as a weapon. That’s a bummer, but he’s not here to fight his way out. At least not yet. Not without Greenie. Walking as silently and quickly as he can, he kneels down in front of the boxes. 

The same black disc that everything seems to have in this god forsaken ship keeps the boxes inaccessible, but they aren’t as tightly sealed as the cabinets seem to be. He slides his fingers along the edge of the box, feeling for a catch or a crack; something, anything he can use to his advantage. His eyes snag on a hinge as his hands glide past them, and he’s about to move on, before he notices something strange. They don’t look like any of the hinges he’s used to, but that’s expected. What isn’t expected is the little divot in the side of the hinge that almost looks like a button. 

He holds his breath as he reaches for it, pressing his nail into it. His jaw drops when the two halves of the hinge, previously interlocked, slide apart with a soft click . A smile grows on his lips when he realizes what just happened. He yanks the lid of the box open, but his excitement vanishes quickly. It’s empty, and, if the thin layer of dust indicates anything, it has been for a long time. He pushes the two halves of the hinges back together, watching as it locks back in place. 

Glancing at the door as his urgency grows, Hitoshi quickly cycles through all four of the boxes, stifling his agitated cursing with his fist as he finds nothing else but dust. What kind of med bay is this place!? Not a single bandage or even a needle? Seriously?

Hitoshi sits back on his heels and takes a few deep breaths to calm himself. If he’s going to accomplish anything with his waste of a performance, he needs to think clearly. Logically. If the boxes have nothing, maybe the cabinets will. Surely it’s not just an empty room with no use, that’s a waste of space! At the very least, they would have remodeled the room into an isolation cell or something. 

Hitoshi stands up quickly, looking closely at the cabinet hinges. Unlike the boxes, they’re all covered by a sheathe of metal, which makes sense given that there is nothing in the boxes and probably, hopefully, something useful in the cabinets. The covering means that he has no direct access to the little button on the hinge, which means he’s unable to access the cabinets. Desperately, Hitoshi runs his fingers around the hinge covers, trying to find a way to pry it off. He freezes as his skin catches on something, and slowly runs his finger back over it. It’s hard to tell what it is he’s feeling, maybe a dent from previous prisoners trying the same trick? 

Hitoshi listens for the door for a moment and, when he can’t hear any movement, carefully steps up onto the first box. When guards don’t come rushing in, Hitoshi stands as tall as possible to see the top of the hinge cover, only removing his finger when his footing is stable.

Lo and behold, Hitoshi’s salvation comes in the form of a very small hole in the top of the cover. 

Hitoshi steps back down from the box, racking his brain to find a way to get to that button. He needs a - a paper clip or a needle, something small and thin and straight. Something he can press into the hole and use to unlock the hinge. He gently pats himself down, hoping somehow whatever god or deity is watching him right now magically poofed! what he needs into existence. 

Unfortunately, nothing happens to spawn in any of his many pockets, so that’s a bust. 

Fortunately , Hitoshi happens to feel the boning in his jacket. His mom used to love watching fashion and design shows before she- anyway, the point is, he knows that there’s probably going to be a little metal wire in the boning to keep some shape in the jacket. Feeling an invisible timer slowly ticking down, closer and closer to zero, Hitoshi uses his teeth to rip open the cuff of his jacket sleeve. His anxiety spikes with every slight riiiip of the stitching. Without fanfare, Hitoshi pries out a thin, flat wire from the fabric encircling his wrist. The tip is rounded - to avoid any poking, he presumes. 

Stepping back up onto the box, he carefully forces the wire into the tiny little hole, moving his wrist around randomly to try and get to the button. As the seconds tick by too fast to be comfortable, he frowns nervously. He can’t even be sure this will work; is he wasting his time? Hitoshi is just about to give up when - click - the hinge comes undone and he hurriedly catches the falling cover. 

Removing the wire quickly, he opens the cabinet to an absolute goldmine . Dozens of prepackaged squares of gauze-like material, packaged in a clear film square, fill the cabinet from bottom to top. Hitoshi wastes no time grabbing a decent stack, but when he goes to shove them all in his pocket, a dawning realization crashes over him. They might pat him down or check his pockets before he leaves - especially if they catch him up and moving around when he’s supposed to be unconscious. 

If he’s going to pocket these prepacked squares of gold, he needs to be strategic in his placement. 

In stacks of three, he lines the inside jacket pockets, keeping them as flat as possible. Once those two pockets are full, he shoves four into each of his boots. He keeps his pants pockets empty for more supplies, and in the end, he manages a total of 14 packages of gauze. Not a bad haul - but he needs to keep moving, and fast. 

Clicking the cabinet door back into place and the cover back on top, he dashes to the next cabinet and repeats the process. There, he finds several sets of small suture needles in packages of four. He starts gathering a few into his arms before noting that if there is anything that they will notice to be missing the most, it is suture needles. Hitoshi tosses all but one of the small packets back into the cabinet and slips the last into the pocket on the outside of his right leg. He also finds a few rolls of what look like tape, two of which he crushes into a more folded, flatter pattern to keep them from sticking up before tucking them into the pockets on the front of each of his thighs. 

The third cabinet goes by quickly; at this point, he has the wire-to-hinge method pretty much locked down. At the very least, he has a new skill set that will come in handy in their eventual attempt - and success; he’s staying positive - at escape. The third cabinet is pretty barren save for a few bottles of what might be a sterilizer or might be water. He’ll find out later. Along with how to open them because the caps are… weird as fuck. He tucks a bottle into each of the pockets on the sides of his thighs, patting them down as much as possible to lessen the bulging in his pockets. 

Satisfied with his collection, he wastes no time as he shoves the last cabinet back in place. He surveys the room one last time, ensuring that everything is as it was when he first arrived, before rushing back over to the table. As he sits down, he brings his hand up to swipe his fingers across his forehead. The cut is still tender, but the bleeding has stopped and is starting to dry. A soft sigh of relief escapes Hitoshi’s lips. He was most certainly not looking forward to the prospect of stitches in his forehead. 

His breath, however, freezes in his throat when a familiar beeeeep rings out from the door. Hitoshi barely manages to prevent his head from slamming against the table in his haste to lay back down, racking his brain to remember what exact position he was laying in. The clicking begins, and Hitoshi makes the last adjustment barely a second before the door slides open. 

His eyes are closed, but the footsteps that enter the room are familiar. That is, until he clocks the last - extra - pair of feet tapping against the floor. That leaves the group with one too many, and the thought that another alien, likely one he has never before seen, is observing him while his eyes are closed unnerves him.  

The aliens begin speaking in low voices, one of them moving around the room. He hears the beeeep-click of one of the cabinets opening up and some ruffling around. If he had to guess, he would say it was the gauze cabinet, but he wouldn’t be surprised if he was wrong. The one that seems to be up and about approaches, and Hitoshi struggles to remain relaxed with them so close.

That struggle is instantly tossed out the window, though, when something settles on his face. The performance was doomed from the start, anyway. He snaps his eyes open as he recoils from what seems to be another stereotypical alien, although the coloring is different. He half falls, half rolls off the table and lands on his feet in a cat-like manner. He backs away warily, only for his wrists and ankles to be jerked back to their previous positions, tripping him. He lands with a hard thud . He tries to stand, but the monkey is grabbing him before he can, wrapping those plated arms around his body and thighs to trap him in place. They must have learned their lesson the first time, this time pinning his arms flat against his stomach. 

Hitoshi’s thrashes are a fight in futility, and the stereotypical alien 2.0 closes in. With an almost bored disposition, they reach up to his face, and Hitoshi leans as far back as possible, squeezing his eyes shut. Where he was expecting a punishment for fighting back, he receives gentle touches, careful and meticulous as they place a piece of thin cloth over the throbbing scab on his forehead. Hitoshi blinks his eyes open and looks down at the alien before him, mouth falling open when their fingers begin to faintly glow green. At least it doesn’t hurt, he tells himself, watching the mostly pink alien wave their fingers in front of his forehead. They don’t touch him, but a sudden itchiness surrounds the scabbing cut, and the green glow fades from their fingers. They crumple up the thin film of a gauze pack, turning away from him and muttering something to the other aliens. 

The monkey lets him back down on his feet, and Hitoshi can only stand there dumbly until he’s urged forward. 

He wasn’t expecting any compassion from his kidnappers - as minimal as it might be - but, nonetheless, he finds himself grateful that the excursion didn’t end in another useless showdown. The monkey and the lizard resume their positions at his sides, holding his arms at the elbow as they lead him back down the halls, retracing their steps and making their way back to where they were originally heading.

The way back is just as confusing as it was the first time, and Hitoshi quickly accepts that memorizing the route is impossible. Instead, he allows himself to be pulled along, trusting that Greenie knew what they were talking about. 

Eventually, the group turns a corner, and Hitoshi spots a door at the end of the hallway. The rest of the hallway is barren, with no other rooms nearby, just as Greenie promised. Hitoshi’s apprehension grows as they near the door. It looks more enforced than the other doors Hitoshi has seen, and it has that same black circle - probably the locks - that the cabinets had. He resists the urge to drag his feet, knowing that the effort would only end badly for him. As they approach the end of the hall, they stop abruptly, and Hitoshi holds his breath while the stereotypical alien swipes one of their wrists, and the wristband on it, over the disc. After yet another beep, followed by a series of clicks, the door slides open with a whoosh . 

At first, it looks just like any of the other hallways he’s been led through. That is, until he realizes that the walls aren’t walls at all. There are three prison-like cells on each side of the room, with no walls separating the cells from each other. The last cell on the right holds a group of aliens, all huddled into a corner. He doesn’t get a chance to really look at them as he’s shoved forward, nearly tripping over his feet. Hitoshi bares his teeth at the monkey while the stereotypical alien moves ahead to the cell beside the aliens. They open the door with another annoying beeeep-click, the monkey and the lizard forcing him forward. It doesn’t take a genius to understand what’s about to happen, and Hitoshi doesn’t plan on laying down and taking it. 

Despite Greenie’s assurances, Hitoshi struggles away from the door to the best of his ability. Digging his heels into the floor, Hitoshi lurches from side to side, trying to dislodge the grips on his arms enough to get away. He manages to get free of the lizard, whose hands have just begun to freeze, but the monkey holds fast, using their extra arms to grab his wrist as well. They yank him forward, hoping to knock him off balance. Hitoshi, knowing he has no chance if he tries to resist, decides to instead step forward with it. The monkey is taken by surprise, and Hitoshi uses the moment of confusion to wrench his arm away. 

He doesn’t even manage two steps before his body locks up on him, sharp pain radiating from his wrists and ankles. Hitoshi’s knees hit the floor hard, again , when he finds himself unable to stay standing, the pain fading away as the electricity stops. Mind racing, he weakly attempts to get his arms under himself in an effort to get up, but the monkey picks him up and literally tosses him through the cell door. He yanks his hands, which instinctively shot out to catch him, out of the way at the last second, barely managing to avoid a sprained wrist and instead landing on his shoulder before rolling to his back. 

He groans in both pain and frustration when he hears that stupid fucking clicking sound again, indicating the activation of the locking mechanism on the cell door. In the same moment, the magnets in his cuffs shut off, and his unrestrained limbs fall apart. Hitoshi briefly considers mustering the strength to face his captors one last time before they leave, but, after the last few days, what’s the point? He’s tried everything he could to get free of them, and his one actual opportunity of surprise was wasted with revenge against a giant space cat alien douchebag. 

He’s just so tired.

Hitoshi doesn’t bother reacting to the sound of the room door opening and closing, leaving him in silence, trapped in yet another cage. Alone once again, he tells himself. Although, that’s not quite true, is it? He sighs, going back and forth between facing his apparent roommates now and ignoring them forever. 

With a disappointed frown, he surmises that ignoring them forever will likely be impossible, so he rolls over onto his stomach and slowly adjusts himself until he is sitting comfortably - or, at least, as comfortably as he can. His shoulder throbs from the rough landing, and he rolls it out, noting the lack of internal pain with no small amount of relief. It’s probably going to bruise, which won’t be fun, but a fractured or broken bone would be much more inconvenient. 

Finally, Hitoshi raises his eyes to inspect the new aliens, but after barely a second, his eyes are drawn to one in particular. His heart, which had finally started to slow to a normal rate, begins to pound in his chest again. 

“You,” he growls, shoving himself up from the ground and taking several rapid steps toward the bars that separate him from the others. “I’m gonna fucking kill you, asshole!” he screeches. Hitoshi isn’t sure what Airheaded Chicken did to get themself put in a cell, but he couldn’t give less of a shit. All he cares about is revenge. “Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you! You deserve every horrible tragedy or trauma that has ever happened to you!” 

All of the occupants of the cell are now pressed against the wall, seemingly trying to get as far away from him as possible. Dirt Eating Maggot stands in front of them, fur standing on end and fangs exposed. He almost wants to laugh at the apparent threat. It isn’t nearly as intimidating as it would be if the thing had two eyes - hold on. 

Hitoshi narrows his eyes as he inspects the giant cat alien. Whoever they are, they clearly aren’t Peabrained Twit. For one, they have two uninjured eyes, and for two, their fur is a sleek black from head to toe, excluding the gray appendage wrapped around their neck. There are also no spiked metal… whatever they were, on any of their tails. Deciding that the black cat isn’t worth his time or what little remaining energy he has left after today, he spins on his heel abruptly. If he weren’t feeling so done with… well, everything, he might have found the fact that his sudden choice to sit down against the wall likely gave them whiplash quite hilarious. 

Hitoshi leans his head back, attempting to try to get some sleep, but every noise makes his heart race. Hitoshi pulls his knees up to his chest and crosses his arms over them before resting his head on top. He focuses on his breathing, attempting, to the best of his ability, to avoid thinking about anything that has happened over the last few days. He is mostly unsuccessful, but he continues trying nonetheless. 

He isn’t sure how long he sits there, lower back pressed against the wall, face tucked into his arms, and heart nearly beating out of his chest, before he hears footsteps. 

Hitoshi sits up so quickly that his eyes take several seconds to focus, black spots dotting his vision for a moment before fading away. He glances at the others, noting that they are also watching the door with apprehension. The cat alien hisses something at the others, and most of them crowd into the corner. The bird-like one stays a little farther forward than the others, but not by much. 

The usual beeeeep-click sounds through the room. When the door whoosh es open, the first thing Hitoshi sees is the head of curly green hair. Hitoshi forces himself to his feet, “Greenie!” falling from his lips before he can stop himself. Greenie’s head snaps up, the crease in their forehead easing with relief as they’re marched towards the cell door. Hitoshi takes a step forward, but when he does, Greenie is yanked harshly to a stumbling halt. 

“Wait! Don’t come closer, or they might not put me with you,” Greenie pleads. 

Hitoshi scowls, but silently agrees nonetheless. He takes a step away so that his back is pressed against the wall, never taking his eyes off of Greenie for fear that the aliens might perceive it as a threat. There’s a long moment of stillness before the stereotypical alien finally unlocks the cell door. Every instinct in Hitoshi’s body demands that he take the shot at freedom, but he knows he would be rewarded with nothing but an empty cell. Not only is it a long shot right now, but he refuses to leave without Greenie. 

God, he doesn’t even know the kid’s name and he’s already attached.

Back home, he was never like this. He was always the type to keep others at an arm's length, living under the philosophy that the less people he cared about, the less people he could lose. It wasn’t lonely, though. He still had his dad, and he didn’t have many friends, but he did have some. 

He met Honoka when they were both six. She found him sitting alone at the playground after his dad decided that he didn’t have enough friends and forced him to go outside. He’d been keeping to himself, but once she found him, she wouldn’t leave him alone. Now, he couldn’t be more grateful. Hitoshi and Honoka met Naoki a few years later, when they were in their early teens. Naoki wasn’t as reserved as he was, but he wasn’t as extroverted as Honoka, either. He saved his energy for his crazy “projects,” as he called them. Every other week, he’d come to school with a new plan or adventure for the three of them to try out together. Half the time they worked and half the time they ended in disaster, but they always left Hitoshi with new memories that he would cherish forever. 

The three of them were inseparable. At least, they were until they graduated from middle school. They didn’t grow apart, but they were interested in different things. Hitoshi wanted to go to space, for one, and they… didn’t. It wasn’t an issue at the time; they never would have let something like a little distance truly separate them. But now, all Hitoshi can think about is the last time they got together, when he told them about the field trip. 

“It’s just for two weeks, I’ll be back soon, and I’ll tell you all about it.” 

“You better! Not that we’ll understand any of your nerd rants, but we’ll certainly pretend to.” 

“Asshole.” 

“She’s right, Hito. We may not understand, but we’ll love listening nonetheless.” 

They all left smiling, laughing, and promising to get together on the fifth. A day after he was supposed to get back. Now, he doesn’t know if he’ll ever go home at all. Distance wasn’t supposed to be able to separate them, but Hitoshi thinks this kind of distance might. And after the last few days, he thinks he just wants to feel a little less alone. 

Greenie being pushed into the cell is anticlimactic after the neverending day he’s had, and neither of them bother to move until their captors leave the room. It’s a long moment of staring at each other when Hitoshi decides to break the silence. “Uh, hey-” 

Hitoshi is cut off by the force of Greenie slamming into him, knocking him back a few steps with an oomph. It takes his brain a moment to understand what is happening, but, when he registers the arms wrapped around him, it becomes clear. Hesitantly, Hitoshi raises his own arms to rest - a little awkwardly - around Greenie, returning the hug. With every breath, Hitoshi can feel both himself and Greenie relax a little more. 

Just as Hitoshi begins to truly lean into the hug, Greenie pulls away, holding Hitoshi away from themself so that they can make eye contact. Then, they just start - just start talking, speaking so fast that Hitoshi barely manages to keep up. “Oh my god, I didn’t think I’d ever see another human again, at least not here, and you’re from the academy too, and it’s so crazy right? Like, we were actually kidnapped by aliens!” 

Greenie squeezes his biceps, which they are now grasping, and shakes him softly back and forth. “Not that that’s a good thing, it’s actually very bad and very scary but it’s better knowing I’m not alone - not that I’m glad they kidnapped you, of course, but I just mean I finally have someone who can understand me without a game of charades. God, I’ve just been so lost recently. I didn’t realize how much I missed understanding simple gestures and expressions until just now. And when I saw you back there, I was so happy, but then I kept thinking that I promised you’d be okay, but what if you weren’t? What if I wasn’t? After all that, and both of us getting hurt, what if we never saw each other again-” 

Immediately overwhelmed, Hitoshi finally manages to shake himself out of his stunned silence, cutting them off, “Woah- slow down! Holy fuck, please just stop talking for one second.” Greenie’s teeth snap together with a clack , but they keep beaming, bouncing on their toes like a toddler waiting to open their Christmas presents. 

Hitoshi takes a deep breath to calm down, stepping out of their grasp. Calmly, Hitoshi introduces himself. “I’m Shinso Hitoshi, he/him. What about you?” 

Greenie’s cheeks flush a bright red, but their smile doesn’t falter. “Oh! I’m so sorry, I’m Midoriya Izuku, he/him as well. Sorry, I know I talk a lot, I didn’t mean to bombard you all of a sudden. Are you okay? You looked pretty injured back there. I know some basic first aid! Maybe you should sit down, or- hold on. How’d you get that?” Midoriya’s gaze has landed on his forehead, where the gauze hides what he now assumes to be a scab. 

“Oh, that. It’s a little complicated. I figured we’d need medical supplies, especially because…” Hitoshi takes a second to pointedly look Midoriya up and down. “You aren’t looking too hot either. So-” 

A new voice, deeper and obscured by a heavy accent he’s never heard before, cuts in. “Mi'oria?”

Hitoshi snaps his head to the side so fast his neck pops, eyes locking on to the giant cat alien. They stop in the middle of taking a step closer to the bars, their ears falling flat against their head, one paw lifted from the ground. “I’m sorry, did that alien just say your name?” 

Chapter Text

Izuku has lived a good, albeit short, life. He has met alien races, learned a little about their language, and flown on an actual spaceship - as a prisoner, yes, but the point still stands. Simply by being kidnapped by aliens, he’s crossed five things off his bucketlist and he can say ‘I was abducted by aliens’ with complete sincerity. 

An image pops into his mind rather abruptly; he sits at a desk, scribbling away, trying to write out new goals for his bucket list just so that he can cross off the items he never imagined could possibly have happened. He decides, in the same moment, to shove the thought from his mind with a silent scoff. Instead, he elects to picture a profound bucket list with a remarkable five items scratched out, and he concludes that at least his accomplishments can comfort him in his final moments. 

Not that Izuku ever really pondered this specific circumstance, but he would have thought he’d be more of a fighter. Raking his nails across his captors’ faces, struggling in their grasp, generally making the whole ordeal a nuisance for the aliens holding his arms down. Cursing, screaming, anything really. Instead, he’s calmly walking to who knows where to do who knows what, knowing that he probably won’t come out in one piece. The thought isn’t as scary as he thought it would be. 

For his whole life, he’s had a healthy fear of death. The idea that one day, he’d simply cease to exist for all of eternity was terrifying. Yet, at this moment, his mind feels strangely blank; the adrenaline and anxiety that he’s sure will hit him later has yet to make an appearance, so right now he’s just existing. He knows this feeling could probably be referred to as the “calm before the storm”, but it’s still rather… disappointing. 

His breath catches in his throat when the click of the door echoes behind him. He glances around, finding himself to be oddly frustrated with the fact that the outside of the cell block looks almost exactly the same as the inside. The walls are the same dull gray color, and the floor is decorated by the same lights. The metal panels that make up the hallway are broken up into triangular pieces. He finds himself resisting the urge to trace the pattern with his eyes, as he’s taken to doing in the boredom in between communicating with the other prisoners and scaring the guards. 

Izuku’s left foot scrapes against the floor, and he stumbles. His right foot shoots out to catch him, and he pauses with his hands splayed out before him. They are spread as far apart as the cuffs on his wrists will allow, which isn’t much at all. His left wrist aches when it is jostled. Izuku breathes a sigh of relief at avoiding the embarrassment of face planting on the floor, which quickly turns into a sharp exhale when one of the guards behind him decides he’s paused for too long. They shove him forward - hard - and, this time, he falls to his hands and knees. He scrambles to get up and keep moving, but not before shooting a withering glare over his shoulder at the perpetrator - not that they can understand his facial expressions. 

If they did, they probably would have come up with some kind of punishment for his disrespect, although he doesn’t think he’ll be alive long enough for it to matter. Though, assuming Sho’a was to be trusted, Izuku shouldn’t be considering this his death march anyways. At first, he’d clawed and scratched - and he’d been clawed and scratched in return, but that didn’t last very long. When he tried to fight against T-Rex, it quickly became obvious that they were simply too big. Izuku was too weak to do any real damage, so they grabbed him before Izuku could make his grand escape. Sho’a had yelled the entire time Izuku was dragged from the cell block, and the only words Izuku could understand from the panicked yelling was ‘No danger, no fight!’ 

Which doesn’t really make sense to Izuku, since Sho’a was the one who told him that they ‘want fight’ the guards. Maybe Sho’a was trying to tell him to wait? So they could come up with a plan that gets them all free? It’s hard to tell with the massive language barrier between them.

Izuku sighs, resigned to resume his death march. His eyes drift up, focusing on the path ahead, when he sees it. The sound of approaching footsteps finally register at the same time that he processes what he is seeing. Staring back at him in shock is another human, a student from Kuiper High judging by the uniform. Their hair is a deep purple that sticks straight up, some parts flattened and tangled together, with matching violet eyes. Parts of their face are covered in both dried and fresh blood that flows from a cut on their forehead, deep eyebags making their eyes appear sunken in. 

“Holy shit, you’re human,” they say, barely loud enough for Izuku to hear. 

Izuku tries to respond with the first thing that comes to mind, but he barely makes it halfway through the sentence. “Holy shit, you’re from Kuip-” one of the guards smacks him in the head, cutting him off and causing him to lurch forward, accidentally biting his tongue in the process. His vision spins for several moments from the force of the blow, and he blinks hard as he hears sudden shouting explode in the corridor. 

His ears ring softly from the noise bouncing around him, and he feels a harsh tug on his arms that have his feet moving mindlessly. He shakes his head slowly back and forth, squeezing his eyes shut and trying to reign his senses back in. When he finally gets his eyes to focus, he inhales sharply at the struggle in front of him. 

The other human, he’ll name them Purple for now, suddenly lunges toward Izuku, making him flinch at the sudden movement towards him. They’re stopped in their tracks by another alien - the same species as Kam’nari and Volts - using their electricity to shock Purple, sending them crashing to the ground. Seeing the only other human on this ship - to his knowledge, he supposes he can’t be sure anymore - in pain snaps Izuku out of his shock, and he struggles against the grips on his arms. He barely frees himself from T-Rex and Monkey, lunging towards Purple. 

That’s about as far as he gets in the so-called ‘fight’, though, before he, too, is taken out by electricity surging through his veins. It is much more effective this time than the first time it was used on him, meaning that Volts learned - and adapted - after seeing his resistance to their first attempt. Damn. 

Izuku groans as he’s lifted back onto his feet, but when Purple starts to struggle once more - weakly, but struggling all the same - he recalls what Sho’a told him. Izuku barely manages to convince Purple to stand down, knowing that at least they are headed to a relatively safe place. 

His captors, unfortunately, are less than grateful, forcing Izuku down the hall even faster than before; he can barely keep up without tripping. Izuku manages to mentally map out four hallways before he loses track of where they are as he’s dragged roughly around corners and down new hallways. The ship is built like a maze, it’s a wonder anyone could find their way around. It must be massive, although, he supposes the fact that it is capable of creating artificial gravity gave that away. A ship that big is hard to hide. He can’t help but wonder how they got so close undetected. Humans are behind the curve in advanced technology, but they are quickly closing the gap, and a ship of this magnitude shouldn’t have been capable of slipping by patrols so easily. 

Izuku plays with the idea of possibly, eventually, setting off some kind of signal to give the pirates away. Maybe he’ll get lucky and friendly aliens will show up to the rescue. On the other hand, he wouldn’t be able to guarantee that it would be friendly aliens who would see the hypothetical “flare”. 

Not that it matters, Izuku would need to get free of the cell first. 

Izuku is pulled to a harsh stop outside of a reinforced door. He uses the few seconds that he is stopped in front of the door to inspect it, and his eyes land on the tiny window looking into the room. It kind of looks like an airlock, he thinks a little hysterically. Did he really just completely lie to Purple? Oh my god, is he about to die? His breathing picks up as Volts steps forward to press their wrist up against a small black device. He does his best to reassure himself that they wouldn’t go to the effort to kidnap him if they were just going to kill him. It doesn’t work very well, but he knows that if he’s going to freak out, now isn’t the time. 

Taking a few deep breaths, Izuku forces himself to focus on Volts’ wrist. Without the barrier of distance, Izuku can get a closer look at how the locking mechanism works. Hopefully, eventually, he’ll be able to use the knowledge to escape. If I live for longer than a few more seconds. He decides to aggressively shove that train of thought into an extremely reinforced safe and toss away the key. A small green light on the lock blinks a few times as Volts holds their wristband steady, followed by the - now far too familiar - clicking of the locking mechanism releasing. The green light stops blinking just as the door opens, and Izuku is shoved inside. 

He stumbles forward, barely staying on his feet, the door clicking shut just as he turns around. He changes his mind; where was that key to the safe? He’s totally fucked. 

Izuku is deciding between running at the door screaming and keeping his dignity before death when his cuffs suddenly detach from each other. His wrists fall to his sides, and he stares at them for a moment before realizing that his legs are also now able to move freely. He blinks, mind trying to rationalize what is currently happening. If they were really going to kill him, would they really leave this tech on him? They would want it back, right? The only reason to leave the cuffs on him would be so that they would have an easy way to detain him in the future. Which wouldn’t be needed if he were dead. Not only that, but if this isn’t an airlock, killing him would be easier with cuffs attached; he wouldn’t be able to fight back as easily. 

Heart rate slowing down now that he’s fairly certain he hasn’t been marched to his death, Izuku notices the sound of mechanical whirring; it sounds like a fan just kicked on. Izuku inspects the room, but he can’t see any fans or mechanical devices other than the door. There’s a few open slats on the ceiling that might be vents, but that’s all there is, the room is entirely bare. He closes his eyes, listening for the direction that the noise is coming from.  

He inhales slowly, eyebrows furrowing, and realizes two things at once. First, the sound seems to be coming from the ceiling, where he knows the small vents lie. Second, he’s breathing in for much longer than he anticipated being able to. He snaps his eyes open, the pieces of the puzzle clicking together in his mind. 

They’re supplying him with more oxygen. More accurately - the 21% that he’s used to. In this small room, protected by a door that looks like an airlock for a reason , they are simulating Earth’s atmosphere. His throat closes up slightly, a fact that he finds extremely inconvenient given that he’s only just been granted access to the atmosphere he grew up in. 

Perhaps it’s a dumb thing to get so worked up over, but he closes his eyes and sinks to the floor, leaning against a wall. Just for a few minutes , he promises himself, Izuku lets himself pretend. He can imagine he’s just out for a walk on a trail through a forest. He’s too deep to hear any voices, and it’s quiet in the middle of the night. If he listens closely, though, he can hear the chirping of crickets rising from the bushes in a beautiful symphony. If he looks up, he can see the stars dancing between the leaves of the canopy and the crescent moon, watching over the world - over his home - with tired eyes.

Izuku slumps further against the wall, lungs filled with air that feels like home and the sound of leaves crunching beneath his feet, falling into the embrace of a gentle slumber.

“Your home is not your birthplace. Maybe, one day, you’ll find a home in the stars.” 

---------------------

Sho’a paces the cell once the door closes behind Mi’oria, fur standing on end. He made an… inference . No, he made a guess, if he was being entirely honest with himself. He has no way to know exactly where they are taking Mi’oria and no way to guarantee their safety. He knew that. And then he went and did it anyway. Sho’a saw the guards, and he saw the fight that began to break out. He knew how unlikely it was that the Terran would actually escape, and he decided that he… he didn’t want them to get even more injured than they already were. So he lied to them. 

What if they aren’t taking them to the adaptation chamber? What if they don’t come back? Did Sho’a just lose Mi’oria, the one and only shot they had at freedom? At survival? …Did he just get them killed? 

“Sho’a please, you’ll reopen your wound,” Hi’ashi pleads, fluttering after him as he paces back and forth in the cramped space. 

Sho’a flicks his tails in agitation, his claws clicking against the ground as he, decidedly, does not stop pacing. How could he even think about relaxing as if he didn’t just, possibly, lose them their only ally? He can’t exactly go after them, he can’t go with them, hell he can barely talk to them! And he lied. He lied to make Mi’oria compliant without knowing for sure that they’ll be okay. 

“Statistically speaking, the Terran’s odds of returning to the cell would be-” Iida says, his arms chopping the air harshly as he speaks.

“Don’t listen to him Az’awa-sensei, I’m sure Mi’oria will be okay,” Ur’aka interrupts, shooting Iida a withering glare. “They are a Deathworlder after all, you know?”

“Being a Deathworlder won’t save them from the void of space or a pirates gun!” he hissed sharply. Ur’aka flinched back minutely, and he paused, guilty. “...but they’re probably more resilient than most.” Ur’aka smiled softly, looking a little more hopeful. 

“I was going to say, before I was so rudely interrupted-” Iida starts to say again, but Bak’go beats him to the punch. Almost literally, given he swings at the air in front of him like he’s trying to backhand someone into a coma.

“Of course they’re more resilient! They’re a Deathworlder! Not more resilient than me, though, obviously.” 

Iida, his tone increasingly more offended, tries to say, “Is anyone going to listen to-” 

He’s drowned out by, “Yes, we know. As you’ve so politely mentioned several dozen times.” Oh god, not now , Sho’a finds himself thinking as he throws a glare at To’roki. 

“Oi, what’s that supposed to mean, Icyhot?” Bak’go rounds on To’roki, a few explosions going off in his hands in a quick succession of pop-pop-pops . 

“Both of you need to settle down, now is not the time,” his bonded cuts in, for which he feels eternally grateful, even considering how little it does. 

“I think you know exactly-” 

“Can everyone be quiet and let me speak? ” Iida suddenly cuts into the conversation, his voice shrill as he shouts. All six turn to him suddenly, expressions varying from shock to irritation. Except for Bak’go. Bak’go almost looks proud, which is something he elects to ignore for the time being. “As I was attempting to say, the Terran’s odds of returning to the cell are actually quite high ,” he says, looking pointedly at Ur’aka. “I don’t find it very plausible that they would kill the Terran after going to, I assume, great lengths to obtain them.” 

“Well why didn’t you just say that?” Kam’nari says, innocently tilting his head. 

“I WAS TRYI-” Iida takes a long, deep inhale. More calmly, he continues, “I just did.”

“What’d you say? I didn’t care enough to pay attention the first time.” 

“YOU HAVE GOT TO BE-”

“Oh-kay,” Hi’ashi drawls loudly, “Why don’t we all just take a moment to calm, take a few deep-” 

“Be quiet,” Sho’a blurts, straining to hear anything else. Anything like what he thought he heard just a moment ago. He narrows his eyes at the door, ignoring the mix of confused and concerned looks he is receiving. And then, there it is again. “I hear footsteps. Several of them, all coming this way.” 

“It’s too early for Mi’oria to be back,” Hi’ashi murmurs, tone apprehensive.

“Not by much. Maybe they just don’t need as long as Bak’go does,” Ur’aka offers anxiously. 

“In the corner, all of you,” Sho’a demands. As if they trained for it, they all huddle into the far corner just as the door opens. 

Time seems to slow down, and Sho’a’s breath hitches when he sees a Terran. For a tick, just a tick, he thinks that it’s Mi’oria, and something that almost feels like relief swells in his chest. But then he looks closer, and the illusion is broken. Time speeds up again, and the new Terran, the Terran who is decidedly not Mi’oria, is pushed forward, stumbling over their feet. They barely spare him and the students a glance, glaring over their shoulder at the Firierodu while the Oriri’vry moves forward to unlock Mi’oria’s cell. They shove the Terran forward, causing them to start struggling, thrashing against the Firierodu and the Sa’terr. And, to his shock, it actually works . 

The Terran manages to escape the grip of both of the guards that were previously holding them in place. He finds himself almost impressed that the Terran managed to pull off the maneuver that they did, using the Firierodu’s weight against them to yank free of their grip. The Terran didn’t just go in with full brute force, they actually came up with a plan, and on the spot too. 

Sho’a’s eyes widen when the Terran’s limbs lock up, the electricity in the cuffs sending them to the floor before they could gain any amount of significant distance. The use of a shock from cuffs is always an option, but it is usually seen as a last resort. An Elerack can regulate their shocks much more accurately than the devices can, and prisoners have been known to die soon after the mechanism is activated. The Terran begins to struggle to push themself off the floor, but they are thwarted by the Firierodu picking them up and launching them into Mi’oria’s cell. The clang that echoes through the room when the Terran lands makes him cringe in sympathy, and he watches them closely while the guards exit. 

They don’t move at first, simply laying in the same position that they landed in. He considers attempting to get their attention to, if nothing else, ask if they know anything about Mi’oria. Although, he supposes that this Terran and Mi’oria being the same species does not mean that they will act the same. The amount of variation between the members of a species depends entirely on… 

The Terran slowly picks themself up off the floor, their arms and feet free from the restriction of the cuffs. After a few moments of gathering their bearings, their eyes find Sho’a, and everything goes downhill. Immediately, their facial expression shifts into something much more terrifying. Their teeth are bared as they suddenly approach the bars between the cells, their purple eyes locked on Sho’a. That same deep, guttural language comes spitting from their mouth at a volume that makes Sho’a flinch, and their eyes refuse to leave him. Sho’a backs away along with his students and Bonded, all of them pressing as far away from the Terran as physically possible.

This Terran is nothing like Mi’oria. 

Sho’a bares his fangs in an attempt to make them back off, and for a moment it seems to work. The Terran suddenly stops screaming, their eyes narrowing as their gaze skips around Sho’a’s body. He resists the urge to shiver, feeling stripped bare. He wards off the reminder of prey being assessed by a predator. 

Then, the aggression vanishes just as abruptly as it appeared, and they turn their back on the group, sitting down against the wall with their head pressed into the crease of their arms. 

Although the Terran’s attention is no longer on them, no one moves for at least three clicks. With how suddenly the newcomer’s moods have been changing, as if being swayed by a soft gust of wind, none of them want to risk doing something that may set them off again. It’s so silent Sho’a is sure that were they on his home planet, they would be able to hear a Banuur’m chirp. 

The quiet is only broken when the distant sound of footsteps reach Sho’a’s - and, apparently, the Terran’s - ears. Sho’a commands everyone, with a discreet gesture, to huddle back into the corner, blatantly ignoring Bak’go’s grumbling. Sho’a really needs to come up with a plan of escape soon, before Bak’go goes rogue, and, consequently, gets himself killed. 

With a swish , the door slides into the wall, revealing the familiar green fur hidden behind the usual retinue of guards. The guards march Mi’oria to the door of the cell, but grind to a halt when the new Terran moves to step forward. Sho’a can’t tell if the action is a show of aggression toward Mi’oria, the guards, or both, but whatever idea was brewing in the Terran’s mind is shut down with Mi’oria’s command. Luckily, the two appear to speak the same language, and he hopes that the commonality will help ease the Terran’s hostility. Mi’oria is pushed into the cell, and neither Terran looks away from each other as the guards leave.

The moment the door clicks shut, the new Terran starts to say something, but Mi’oria is already flying across the cell and tackling them. Ur'aka lets out an anxious squeak, and Hi’ashi’s talons click on the floor when he takes a step toward the bars separating them from the Terrans. When, after a moment, it doesn’t appear that either one of them is attacking, a breath that Sho’a didn’t realize he was holding expels from his lungs. 

Mi’oria lets the Terran loose from their hold slightly, and Sho’a’s ears ring with the sudden onslaught of the unfamiliar language flowing rapidly from Mi’oria’s mouth. On the bright side, it seems as if the other Terran is also a bit dazed. They don’t seem particularly intimidated by Mi’oria’s teeth being extremely bared, their own mouth twitching upwards slowly - almost subtly - to match. Is Mi’oria threatening the other Terran? Is the other Terran responding negatively to the threat? What is happening? 

Oh stars, they’ll kill each other, won’t they? 

Quietly, so as not to draw their attention, Sho’a leans closer to his bonded and mutters, “Hi’ashi, we have to do something; they’ll kill each other! What were the guards thinking, putting two hostile Terrans in a cell together?”

“I’m not sure I’d describe Mi’oria as hostile, Sho,” Hi’ashi responds, matching his volume. “Maybe they thought the new one would take the dominant role without a fight.” 

“Well, clearly, that isn’t happening.” He inhales deeply before speaking again. “I’m going to try to get their attention. Maybe distract them from killing each other, at least for a few moments. Long enough for Mi’oria to make some kind of plan.” 

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” 

“No, but it’s better than watching a slaughter.” At the nervous rippling of Hi’ashi’s feathers, Sho’a shoots him a calming look. “Don’t worry, there are still bars separating us. It’s not like they can get through them.” I hope. 

Obviously, Sho’a does not voice that concern. He’d rather die from being wrong than withstand Hi’ashi’s ranting about assumptions and risks and whatever else. 

Sho’a slowly moves forward as the Terrans talk to each other, significantly quieter than before, but that doesn’t seem to mean anything, as Mi’oria’s teeth are still on full display. For a moment, he hesitates to draw their attention, but he gathers his courage and says, “Mi’oria?”

Both Terrans snap their heads towards Sho’a the moment that the sound escapes his mouth, making him freeze mid-step. The new Terran says something, narrowed eyes locked on Sho’a. Slowly, a grave realization dawns on him, trickling down his spine with fingers as cold as ice. Hi’ashi was right, this was a mistake. 

Chapter Text

“I’m sorry,” Hitoshi gasps, his tone far from apologetic. “Did that alien just say your name?” He doesn’t take his eyes off of the cat alien, but he can hear Midoriya shift in place quietly - likely nervously. 

Midoriya chuckles softly, but when he speaks, his voice sounds strained. “Yeah, about that, remember when I said ‘I was just there’? About the place you were going? You know, when I was trying to convince you to…” Hitoshi narrows his eyes, still refusing to remove his gaze from the cat alien, their fur standing on end at the intensity in his gaze. No one in the next cell dares to even breathe too loudly, and that instills a modicum of satisfaction in his veins. Midoriya takes his silence as an invitation to continue. “Right, well, that’s because this is where I’ve been. It’s where they put me right after they got me. Or, at least, I think it is. I don’t know how long I was out for, but that’s the impression I was under.” 

Finally, Hitoshi rips his eyes away from the cat to inspect his surroundings. The first thing he notices, especially after Midoriya’s small speech, is that it’s rather… large. “Wait, wait hold on. Are you telling me I got stuffed in a tiny fucking kennel, barely able to move , and you got an entire cell? With this much room?” Hitoshi spreads his arms, gesturing to the bars spread far enough apart that he can’t even come close to touching two opposite sides at once. He’d need at least two more of himself to reach. 

“What do you mean a kennel?” Midoriya twists his hands over each other nervously.

Hitoshi clenches his jaw, suddenly regretting bringing it up. “They put me into a cage barely big enough to hold a dog for the last two fucking days. This whole thing has been my first time out of it.” 

Midoriya opens his mouth, inhaling to speak, before stopping. His eyes scan back and forth across Hitoshi’s face before flicking down to assess his body language. He does his best to look unaffected by his words, but Midoriya doesn’t seem to be falling for it. Hitoshi raises an eyebrow at Midoriya when he tries to speak again, just daring him to ask, but thankfully, he doesn’t.

“Why were you kept there for two days instead of just being brought straight here? That makes no sense, especially if they were planning to bring you here eventually either way.” 

Hitoshi shrugs, tucking his hands into his pockets and leaning on one leg. “I dunno, all I know is that they never let me out of the cage until they brought me here.”

Midoriya frowns. “That’s… really odd.” His eyebrows push together in contemplation. “I guess I just woke up already here. I never really moved anywhere until - well, you know.” 

Hitoshi pauses, his eyebrows pinching together when Midoriya’s words register in his sleep deprived brain. “Wait, hold on. You ‘woke up’? Why were you asleep?”

Midoriya’s face twists with indignation as he blurts out, “It’s not like I chose to be unconscious!”

Hitoshi waves his hand impatiently. “You say unconscious, I say asleep. Either way, I’m still waiting for an explanation.”

Mouth pressed into a grim line, Midoriya plops down on the floor, propping his arms up on his bent knees. Slowly, Hitoshi sits down across from him, matching his position, leaving barely a few centimeters between their feet. Midoriya sighs, running a hand down his face as he answers. “I’m not… really sure. It happened too fast to keep track of. I was in the middle of an exercise, and everything was going pretty well. I had the pod under control and everything, but then my teacher turned on the comm link. She sounded out of breath, and when she spoke…” Midoriya closes his eyes, considering his next words. Or, Hitoshi thought, bringing himself back to that day. “Her voice was tense. I could tell she was scared, even though she masked it well. She didn’t hesitate or skirt around the topic; I guess she knew there wasn’t time. She told me that a ship had suddenly been detected, and that it came out of nowhere. There was no way anyone was going to be able to get to me before the intruders, so-” Midoriya stops talking, biting into his lower lip and letting his head fall forward. 

Keeping his voice gentle and quiet, Hitoshi asks, “What happened next?” 

Midoriya lifts his head just enough for Hitoshi to see his eyes slide open, dull and swirling with resignation and exhaustion. The kind of bone deep exhaustion that takes work to achieve. Midoriya stares down towards the floor, but his gaze is lightyears away. “She told me to fight. So that’s what I did. Next thing I know, everything goes dark and I'm waking up here, in a cell, with Sho’a and the others right over there.”

Desperate to bring back that spark of life in Midoriya’s eyes, Hitoshi changes the subject as gracefully as a newborn deer. “What’s a ‘Sho’a’?”

Midoriya huffs a brittle laugh, the corners of his eyes crinkling softly. It’s obvious what Hitoshi is doing; Sho’a is clearly a name, not a thing, if the way that Midoriya referred to them was any indication, but Midoriya seems more than happy to take the offered escape. Midoriya takes a deep breath, sucking air into his lungs greedily before letting it go with a whoosh . Then, Hitoshi watches as Midoriya’s body shifts, his posture straightening out and his face softening. Joy sparkles in his eyes. Something in Hitoshi wilts when Midoriya speaks, and he realizes that he’s not sure if he could tell the difference between the mask that he just watched slide into place and the real Midoriya. 

“Sho’a is a who, not a what.” Midoriya speaks with a smile so genuine that Hitoshi feels his mood lifting ever so slightly. Some part of him - the part that he hates - decides that maybe he doesn’t need to know the difference. Midoriya turns to face the giant cat alien still hovering a few steps from the bars, not daring to move and reignite Hitoshi’s attention. “Sho’a,” Midoriya calls before saying something in a vaguely recognizable language. It’s brief, a few words at most, and the syllables fall roughly off of Midoriya’s tongue. Hitoshi watches warily as the cat alien turns their head to look at him before slowly slinking closer to the bars. They remain just outside of arm’s reach, sitting down on their hind legs, their multiple tails slowly swishing across the floor. “Shinso, this is Sho’a. Introduce yourself to them, they’re harmless, I swear.”

Hitoshi whips his head to glare at Midoriya. “Are you insane? Why would I tell them my name?”

Midoriya rolls his eyes. “We’ve reached a compromise; trust me, they’re allies. Look, they’re being held prisoner here too, and we need people we can trust.” Midoriya shrugs casually while gesturing to the cat - to ‘Sho’a’. 

“Trust is a strong word,” he says, raising an eyebrow. 

“Yeah, well, I don’t know about you, but I don’t know how to fly an alien spaceship.” 

Hitoshi curls his lip in disdain at the suggestion that they need help, but it’s not as if he’s wrong. In fact, he kind of hates how right he is. Breathing out harshly, he raises his chin and looks down his nose at ‘Sho’a’, who still sits just beyond his reach from the bars. He quickly flicks his gaze over the rest of the other captives - six more, fucking fantastic, he has a bunch of aliens to worry about too now - before briskly giving his name. 

“Shinso.” His efforts earn him no more than a blank stare, and he resists the urge to huff with frustration. If they can’t figure it out, that’s not on him. 

Unfortunately, Midoriya doesn’t seem to agree. He steps forward as he opens his mouth, placing a hand on his chest. “Midoriya.” Then, he gestures to Hitoshi with flared fingers. “Shinso.” 

For a long moment, silence reigns in the cell block. ‘Sho’a’ darts their eyes back and forth between them, ears laying flat while their tails pick up in movement, thrashing against the floor. Shinso watches as their fur stands on end, before a hiss escapes the alien’s mouth, followed closely by, “Ssssss…in…o.”

Hitoshi is unamused by the, frankly, pitiful attempt, and he raises his eyebrows. “I am thoroughly unimpressed,” he mutters to Midoriya. Midoriya snorts, before badly covering it up with a cough and a glare. 

“They’re trying their best, be nice.” 

“Nice? Who’s she? I barely know her.” Midoriya rolls his eyes, but Hitoshi notices the subtle twitching of his lips. Fueled by the knowledge that he’s breaking Midoriya’s composure, he pushes onward. “What was their name again? Ssssss-oh-ah?” He draws out the syllables purposefully, reminiscent of the alien’s hissed mis-pronunciation of his name. Midoriya giggles briefly before sealing his lips shut. Meanwhile, ‘Sho’a’ becomes visibly agitated by the obvious mocking, hissing at him like a stray alley cat. 

Hitoshi hisses back without hesitation, making the alien flinch back, their arms stretched forward and fur puffed up. Their claws scrape against the ground as their tails whip up a frenzy behind them. In his completely objective opinion, they look like a frightened kitten. That’s probably what sets Midoriya off in a fit of laughter, despite his obvious attempts to prevent it, his lips peeling back as he doubles over. 

Hitoshi’s glare softens as he turns to watch Midoriya laugh, tears gathering in the corners of his squinted eyes. Something about it makes something in his chest ache fiercely. Maybe it’s the fact that nothing in this room, except for Midoriya, is familiar to him. Maybe it’s because he’s relieved that he can understand a person’s body language - as if it’s a second language - for the first time in days. Maybe it’s because he misses actually being able to make someone laugh like that. Or maybe it’s because, even if they’re stuck in this hellhole, he knows that they at least have each other to rely on. 

Midoriya sobers up quickly, wheezing for breath as he fights to calm down. “You have got to stop antagonizing them, they’re really very friendly! You just have to give them a chance to prove it.”

“Cat-dude literally just rolled their eyes at me.” 

“Shinso Hitoshi.” Hitoshi rolls his eyes, but he figures if Midoriya decides they’re worth the effort, then he can at least make an attempt to be... nice, or whatever. With a sigh, he turns back to the aliens, ignoring Midoriya’s approving hum. He isn’t sure what he is expected to do, so he simply watches. Well, he doesn’t quite watch. A more accurate descriptor would be ‘stares’. At Sho’a. Definitely not intentionally refusing to break eye contact even to blink. The silence stretches on, and after a few seconds, he hears Midoriya exhale in exasperation. He can tell the other is about to speak, so- 

“Heeee..oh..ssssi? Hi’osi?” Hitoshi snaps his head to the side so fast, black spots appear in his vision. He bares his teeth viciously at the giant bird-cat thing inching closer to ‘Sho’a’. The bird squawks at the sudden glare set on them, their feathers ruffling as they spread their wings to look bigger. 

Midoriya grabs his arm as he tries to take a step closer to the bars, frantically saying something in that same rough language that he spoke earlier. Hitoshi catches his name thrown into the sentence, but that’s all he can understand. 

When Hitoshi tries to step out of Midoriya’s grip, teeth gritted, Midoriya yanks him back. “We’re trying to establish rapport, Shinso!” he hisses quietly. 

“There’s no way I’m letting them call me-” 

“That’s why I’m trying to explain it to them. You can’t glare and hiss your way through every interaction and expect it to work.” 

Hitoshi folds his arms in defiance. “Just watch me!”

“ Or,” Midoriya emphasizes, glaring at Hitoshi. “We could try to actually communicate with them. Come on, Shinso, can’t you cut them a little slack, and take the hostility down a notch?” After a pause due to Hitoshi’s lack of response, Midoriya’s gaze softens. “Please?” 

Hitoshi huffs, trying desperately to hold on to his rapidly fading indignation. He deflates when Midoriya starts pouting at him, pleading with his eyes. “Fine, fine! Knock it off with the puppy dog eyes already, I’m being nice, see?” Hitoshi turns back to the bird and plasters on his nicest smile, already bracing for the scolding when he shows off his teeth. 

Midoriya smacks his arm with a gasp. “Shinso!” He groans, dragging a hand down his face. “Why do I even try?” he says with a sigh. Collecting himself, Midoriya turns back to the aliens and, again, speaks to them in whatever language he’s using. Hitoshi watches him, his urge for tomfoolery fading the longer that Midoriya speaks. 

By the time Midoriya finishes speaking and turns back to him, Hitoshi is filled with little more than curiosity. “How do you know their language?” 

“Common?”

“If that's what it’s called, then sure.” Muttering under his breath, he adds, “Although, whoever came up with that name really needs to work on their creativity.” 

Midoriya either doesn’t hear him or ignores him entirely, moving on without missing a beat. “I already knew a few words before-” he cuts himself off with a frown. “Well, you know. I’ve had to use,” Midoriya pauses, choosing his wording carefully. “Some questionable methods.” 

Hitoshi arches an eyebrow at Midoriya, “Questionable methods, huh?”

Midoriya’s cheeks light up bright red as he scrambles to change the subject. “Anyway, after I woke up - and we reached an agreement of neutrality - they’ve been teaching me a few words here and there. We have to go through a very complicated game of charades, but it’s worked thus far.”

“They teach you? Willingly?” 

“Oh, yeah! It would probably be a good idea to teach you some words too.” 

“...Well damn.” 

“What?” 

“I was really looking forward to the break from school, but I guess the fuck not, huh?”

“Shinso!”  

---------------------

When Denki applied to UA, he did not have high hopes. He had dreamed of attending the school ever since he was old enough to know what it was, but he never thought it would be possible. UA was extremely prestigious; he doubted he would ever be able to match up to any of the other applicants, especially when he had barely clawed his way through secondary school. 

When he started on the multiple choice section of the admissions test, the impending doom of failure felt as though it only loomed closer. He had almost given up right then and there, convinced that he could never pass considering how lost he felt on so many of the questions, but he didn’t. It ended up paying off when he got to the essays at the end of the test, which were, fortunately, about a topic he was familiar - and not at all obsessed - with. They were his only saving grace, it’s the one thing he’s absolutely positive of.

When Denki received his notice of admission, he was half sure that it had to be fake. There was no way that he, Kam’nari Denki, the dumbest kid in school, made it into the highest ranked academy in the known universe. He didn’t truly believe it until the first day of school, when his student ID was scanned at the gate, and he was let in.  

Everything about it was a dream come true. 

From the teachers being actual PAC Corps agents, to the curriculum and training, and down to the friends he’s made in his classes, it was everything he could have hoped for. That is, it was, until they were kidnapped in the middle of a practical lesson. 

That really put a dampener on the whole ‘dream come true’ thing. 

Denki has tried to make the best of their situation, but it’s a losing battle. Bak’go is always ready to fight, no matter who it is, and To’roki can’t seem to stop himself from fueling the fire. Iida does his best to keep them all in line, but well, it only ever seems to rile the two of them up even more. And Ur’aka. She hasn’t spoken much at all since they were thrown into this cell, and when she does it’s said in exhaustion and exasperation. The most emotion she has expressed was when Az'awa and Ya’ada accidentally revealed their Bonding. 

Just when he thought it couldn’t get any worse, the Terran was brought in. Again, he did his best to keep the mood light, and he tried to keep from assuming the worst of the Deathworlder. But what he didn’t share with his classmates - or his teachers - was all of what his parents transmitted to him. Slotted into his brain, alongside his own memories, is the terror that followed the discovery of the species and their destructive nature. 

It haunts him every night he goes to sleep. 

Transmissions aren’t very detailed, but his species has always been keen on storytelling. Word of mouth and transmissions are the main reasons that they know any amount of their species’ history at all. Sure, Eleracks can write or document their histories, but that just isn’t how they operate. He’s pretty sure that the storytelling habit developed after the ability to transmit appeared. 

According to his old professor, their bodies evolved to allow transmissions in order to speed up the learning process in the earlier stages of life. It was a shortcut to learning simple skills and methods. Or, at least, he thinks that’s what they said. He can’t be entirely sure, considering that he failed Evolution Studies. To this day, he’s convinced that he’s never had a professor with a more boring, monotone voice. 

Even Az'awa is more interesting to listen to during lectures, and while he’d never admit it out loud, Az'awa can be horrendously dull. 

…What was he talking about again? Oh yeah, transmissions. The thing about transmissions is that they aren’t usually showing you anything; you feel it as if you were there, experiencing it. It’s overwhelming, all-consuming. The terror he felt the day his parents accidentally transmitted those snippets of their memories from the discovery of Terran Deathworlders - rattling in his bones and creeping in the shadows of his mind - it’s unexplainable, unimaginable. 

How does he reconcile those emotions, that terror, with… Mi’oria?

At no point these past few cycles has Mi’oria shown themself to be a real threat; at least, not to them. Unless they were interacting with the guards, they’ve shown no true aggression, no bloodlust, nothing to warrant such bone-deep horror. In fact, it’s been nothing but the opposite. They have gone out of their way to ensure that Denki, along with his classmates and teachers, felt safe and relaxed, even in their presence. 

Which is why the appearance of this new Terran has been so… confusing. He doesn’t know what to believe. Is Mi’oria an outlier? Is the new Terran just lost? Scared? He knows a thing or two about that, and he knows how it can make a person act. 

Thankfully, it seems that Mi’oria’s presence has somewhat mollified the purple Terran, who is keeping all of their focus on Mi’oria as they talk. And wow, can Mi’oria talk. In hindsight, it seems obvious that they can speak normally in their own language, but this entire time it’s been the slow, broken sentences in Common. Only now that there is another Terran present, who can understand what Mi’oria says in their native tongue, are they seeing them bloom. 

Or, at least, that’s what he thinks is happening. It’s a little hard to tell without being able to understand their body language. Unlike many other species, Eleracks tend to smile due to positive emotions. It is a trait he has had to be cautious about showing when he joined UA. Those first few weeks were especially rough; he had a habit of accidentally scaring away any species unfamiliar with Eleracks. Luckily, the focus of Az'awa’s first few lessons was on the body language of the different species in his class to avoid any miscommunications. 

It isn’t much of a stretch to believe that a Terran baring their teeth could be due to a smile forged from happiness or some form of joy. The only thing is, he noticed that when Mi’oria smiled at the guards, it was a little sharper; their mouth stretched wider than when they smiled at Denki, even after they started blocking their mouth with their hand. 

Denki sighs, frustrated by the uncertainty of the situation. He’s used to being out of his depth and watching from the sidelines in confusion. It’s infuriating that, even after all this time, it never gets any easier to be the odd one out - or, in this case, the odd one of many. The two Terrans go back and forth as they sit on the ground, ignoring everyone else in the room, and all they can do is watch it unfold like a meteorite exploding against the surface of a planet in slow motion. 

Suddenly, the mood shifts, and Denki is drawn back to the disaster in front of him. The purple Deathwordler is staring at Az'awa, and with every tick that passes, the tension in the room rises. Just as it crescendos - Denki seriously considers overloading on his own electricity just to be knocked out for a blissful quarter cycle or two - Ya’ada steps forward with blind confidence that Denki is fairly certain he doesn’t actually have. 

Then, he speaks. 

Denki isn’t actually sure what he says; he doesn’t recognize the word, but it sounds foreign when it emerges awkwardly from Ya’ada’s vocal cords. In the end, though, it doesn’t matter. At least not to him. Not when the purple Terran’s head swivels so fast that he thinks that if he blinked, he would have missed it. Not when their gaze, filled with hate and scorn and too many things that Denki doesn’t understand , narrows into a sharp glare. Not when they bare their teeth in a way that Denki does understand, because if he is sure about anything, it’s that the expression plastering itself on the Terran’s face is not a smile. It is a threat. 

Denki flinches back, his breath caught in his throat, and, finally, there is a Terran that he can wholeheartedly match to the bone-deep terror from his parents’ transmissions. 

Movement to the side of the purple Terran catches his eye, and he gasps. What are you doing, he wants to scream. He wants to tell Mi’oria to stay back, it’s not safe. He wants to warn them of the glare that they must not be able to see from where they stand, because if they could, he knows they wouldn’t be- 

Denki’s mind stutters to an abrupt halt. 

Mi’oria’s hand lands on the purple Terran’s arm, their fingers tightening to what must be a bruising grip, before they yank the other backwards. For a moment, Denki is sure that he’s lost the fragile friendship that pieced itself carefully together in the time that Denki was able to speak to Mi’oria. But instead of attacking, the Terran, for a few ticks, just… stays back. There is no instinctual defensive action. In fact, they barely even look at Mi’oria despite the way that their tiny claws are pricking at the purple Terran’s skin. 

“Peace! I no want fight,” Mi’oria gasps desperately. Their accent is thicker than it normally is, but what they are trying to say is still more than clear. “You…” Mi’oria trails off, eyes flicking back and forth in thought. “No Hitoshi. ” They gesture to the purple Terran. “Want Shinso. No want Hitoshi. ” 

The purple Terran shifts, tensing in an attempt to pull away, but Mi’oria doesn’t let them. They turn to each other, speaking tensely in their language for several ticks. After a long moment, during which they stare at each other in a seeming battle of wills, the purple Terran sighs loudly. Mi’oria seems satisfied with whatever they just achieved, but, when the purple Terran turns to his classmates and teachers, Denki feels far from reassured. Especially considering the expression adorning their face, filled with too many teeth and nearly as much malice as what Mi’oria leveled at the guards. 

It doesn’t last long, though; Mi’oria doesn’t allow it. In a flash of motion, their arm snaps out, smacking violently against the other Terran’s skin. Denki sees some of the others flinch at the smack that is produced, but the purple Terran barely even seems to notice. He doesn’t know if that’s a good or bad thing. 

“No fight, peace, truce,” Mi’oria says, spitting the words in rapid fire. It sounds like they’re listing every calming word that they know in Common, which, clearly, isn’t much. Then, they go back over the point that they were trying to make earlier about what Denki assumes is the purple Terran’s name. “Want Shinso. No want Hitoshi. ” Silence descends on the cells when they finish speaking, and Mi’oria inspects them with that piercing, assessing, stripping gaze. Then, they offer a close-lipped smile, but Denki can’t tell if it’s meant to be reassuring or threatening. He supposes that he can’t speak for the others, but he most certainly does not feel very reassured. 

Whatever Mi’oria is searching for, they must find - either that or they give up - because they start up their conversation with the other Terran once more. 

After a while, Denki starts recognizing a few words in Common thrown back and forth on repeat. 

Mi’oria seems to be teaching the other Terran - uh… Sin…so? Sin’so? Sure, that works - the few words in Common that Denki and his teachers have managed to teach them. When Sin’so seems to be caught up, suddenly Mi’oria sits up - spine straightening so quickly Denki swears he hears a bone crack - and snaps their head towards them, eyes locking onto Denki. “Kam’nari! Want you, yes!” 

…Denki’s not entirely sure what that means. 

When Denki fails to respond more than staring blankly at Mi’oria, Mi’oria huffs, points at him and tries again. “Kam’nari, want you, no fight.” Yeah, that’s not helping. “Want you, want you-” Mi’oria’s words descend into a low groan, pressing their hand against their eyes. After a moment, they try one more time, lowering their hand and pointing at Denki, then at the floor beside them in a very clear ‘come here’ gesture. He’s still not entirely sure what they want from him, but oh well. He’ll figure it out eventually. Maybe. 

Denki stands up and walks over to the bars, dodging one of Az'awa’s tails reaching out to pull him back. Mi’oria isn’t a threat and if Sin’so happens to be, he can always give the purple furred Terran a good shock. There’s no need for overprotectiveness; he can handle himself. Stars above, how do they think he’s supposed to make it as an agent if he can’t protect himself from someone in another cage with actual agents at his back?

“Kam’nari get away from the bars,” Az'awa hisses lowly, yet not daring to get close enough to the bars to grab him. Denki ignores him and looks at Mi’oria. 

“Mi’oria want?”

“Yes, yes, want! Peace, no danger!” Mi’oria’s eyes are wide like a pleading bloupp, their hands spread wide out in front of them, displaying a universal sign of peace. At least, he hopes it’s universal. Whatever, he trusts that Mi’oria wouldn’t lie to him. 

“Mi’oria no danger,” Denki agrees before looking at the other Terran, his antenna sparking threateningly. Well, as much threat as he really can be to a Terran. “Sin’so danger?” Sin’so scowls but pointedly looks away, apparently opting to ignore him for the time being. That is A-okay with him; you won’t catch Denki complaining any time soon.

Mi’oria’s hands start waving frantically. “No! No danger!”

Denki watches Sin’so for a moment, eyeing the hostility in the curl of Sin’so’s mouth. Warily, Denki decides to ask Sin’so directly. “Sin’so?”

Mi’oria turns to Sin’so, smacking their arm lightly, pointing at Denki while speaking in their foreign language. It’s a quick back and forth until Sin’so lets out a huff and turns to face Denki. Their eyes meet, and Denki can’t help the way his electric stream sparks a few times at the intensity in Sin’so’s gaze. Slowly, even less articulate than Mi’oria - and that’s saying a lot - Sin’so says in Common, “No fight, peace. No danger.”

Their accent is as thick as Mi’oria’s, if not even thicker given Mi’oria was the one to teach them the words and not his teachers or himself. He’s noticed that their accent in Common is rather… fluid. The few words in Common that Denki got to teach are spoken with the high upward lilt of his own homeplanet, while the ones Az'awa taught have a very slight hiss or growl elongating the words. It’s like they aren’t just learning, they’re also mimicking the voices they're learning from. 

It’s simultaneously fascinating and deeply disturbing. 

Idly, Denki wonders if they could mimic their voices perfectly too, or if it’s just the accent. Perhaps it’s part of their natural lures for their prey: drawing their prey in by mimicking another in their species in order to lower their guard so that the Terrans can pounce. Do Terrans pounce? That seems more of a Felidae thing. 

Wait a minute - that’s not important, Denki, focus!  

“No fight,” he repeats. To him, the meaning is obvious: ‘Yeah, and?’ Clearly, he’s not getting that across to the Terrans, given the blank stares that they are both leveling at him. 

Mi’oria says something to the other Terran before they both, simultaneously, turn back to face him. Then, with a very exaggerated gesture at Denki, Mi’oria slowly says, “Kam’nari.” They look at Sin’so as they speak, but Denki just blinks. Hasn’t Mi’oria already told Sin’so what his name is? 

“Ka…min…ari,” Sin’so mimics - horribly, he might add; that’s not how his name is pronounced. 

“No,” Mi’oria gently chides. “Ka… m’n …ari.” 

Denki’s mouth slips open, falling into an ‘O’ shape when Sin’so repeats the name, correctly this time. Mi’oria is teaching Sin’so! Well, stars above, Denki can teach them; they should’ve asked him sooner!

Chapter Text

The last few days have been good. No, good is the wrong word. It’s a little hard to describe a time period as ‘good’ when you, a handful of your classmates, and your teachers have been kidnapped and held captive by pirates during said time period. But it has certainly been… better.  

For starters, Denki is fairly certain that he has made a new friend. And then, there’s Sin’so. 

Sin’so is the kind of asshole who treats people like shit either for their amusement or for someone else’s. He likes to randomly rile up Az'awa-sensei and Ya’ada-sensei by baring his teeth, or - specifically for Az'awa-sensei - hissing at them, and then pretending it never happened. Every time, without fail, Mi’oria smacks their arm and scolds them in whatever language it is that they share. Other than that, Sin’so is pretty mild. They aren’t overly aggressive, but they also don’t make much of an effort to interact with Denki or any of the others when they are not being taught Common. Not in the way that Mi’oria does. 

They seem to reserve that energy for Mi’oria, patiently listening while the other Terran rambles, a rapid firing of words that, for once, none of them can understand. 

The two have also developed a habit of play-fighting when either of them starts bouncing their legs or fidgeting restlessly. It is an activity that took one too many heart attacks to become accustomed to. The first time they play-fought, it was terrifying. No one knew that they had no intention of truly harming each other. He thinks they only accepted that the lack of injuries was intentional after the third time. Denki is pretty sure Az'awa-sensei is still recovering from it. 

They were in the middle of a Common lesson, one that Denki, for once, was not participating in. Az'awa-sensei had noticed Denki’s steadily increasing exhaustion and had opted to step in. Mi’oria patience had appeared to be waning with every passing second, unable to grasp whatever it was that Az'awa-sensei was trying to teach them. Suddenly, Sin’so tackled Mi’oria to the ground. Az'awa-sensei was a mess, shouting broken Common and stalking along the bars, trying to pull Sin’so’s attention away from Mi’oria. If Denki was being honest, he was showing clear favoritism the entire time. Ya’ada-sensei even tried screeching at a volume just low enough that it didn’t damage anyone’s ears, and for a moment, it worked wonders. Both Mi’oria and Sin’so froze, heads swinging to peer up at Ya’ada-sensei from the floor. 

Ya’ada-sensei tried to convince them not to kill each other, but it must not have been clear because they only said, in creepy unison, “No fight,” before promptly returning to their fight. It was a tense few clicks until they finally dropped to the floor panting and nudging at each other in a mockery of an attack. It is less of an issue now, with most of them electing to ignore the fighting in the neighboring cell. That is, excluding Az'awa-sensei, of course. Az'awa-sensei only ever relaxes when they complete their play-fight, both resurfacing with no debilitating injuries. 

Truthfully, Denki is not sure why Az’awa-sensei is so concerned for the Terrans. Logically, his teachers’ priorities should lie solely in keeping him and his classmates safe. Az’awa-sensei is responsible for them as their main teacher, so protocol in a scenario such as the one they’ve found themselves in would be to focus on nothing more than getting them to safety. 

He glances over to Sin’so and Mi’oria, who are currently engaged in another language lesson with Az’awa-sensei, making the faces they usually make right before they start play-fighting. Denki has learned not to underestimate that expression; Terrans, even caged ones, are chaotic at best. Needless to say, Terrans get bored easily and have a habit of finding increasingly random ways to curb that boredom. Az’awa-sensei keeps knocking a tail against the bars to regain their attention, laying down by the bars in complete relaxation. He’s not sure this counts as ‘nothing more’. He isn’t upset, by any means. He’s just… perplexed. 

Denki has a few guesses in regards to the cause of Az’awa-sensei’s unusual behavior. Part of him wants to believe that his teacher is simply acting in the way that an Agent in the PAC Corps should. An Agent’s job revolves around protecting citizens from any harm that may befall them. The only thing is, he’s not exactly sure if the Terrans are considered citizens. Yet. Even if they were, though, he knows that right now, Az’awa-sensei is a teacher before he is an Agent. 

Which can only lead to one conclusion. At least, the only one Denki can come up with. Az’awa-sensei must see some kind of potential in the Terrans beyond the two being an asset in their eventual, possible escape… Right? As much as Az’awa-sensei pretends to be a stoic hard-ass, he tends to be a bit of a softie. He cares about his students more than he lets on, Denki doesn’t need proof of that. Why else have they refused to risk it all and set Bak’go loose on the pirates? 

Speaking of pirates, why are they here ? Denki may be an idiot for failing to understand, but why did the pirates kidnap not only his classmates and teachers, but the Terrans too? Why go to all this trouble just to leave them be for nearly an entire moon revolution? There has been no torture, not that he’s complaining, no experiments, and no interrogation. They have yet to even take Ya’ada-sensei or Az’awa-sensei from the cell at all. It makes no sense. If not for information, entertainment, or science, then why? 

Az’awa-sensei said that they were captured for a reason, but what reason? Ransom maybe? To’roki is some sort of royalty or whatever, and he supposes Bak’go is a ‘renowned warrior’, or so he claims. Az’awa-sensei and Ya’ada-sensei are both Agents, so they are, of course, in the running as well. But to keep Denki, Ur’aka, Iida and the Terrans? What do all of them have in common to be kept alive and relatively well fed for prisoners?

Unless it’s not because of who they are, but what they are, or even what they are capable-

Denki’s mind is ripped from his thoughts, questions long forgotten, when the floor beneath him becomes unstable. A shudder rumbles its way violently through the cell block - maybe even the entire ship. Denki stumbles, falling into Ur’aka and forcing them both to the ground in a tangle of limbs. Ur’aka yelps when she is accidentally shocked by his electric stream, but Denki is too busy trying to find his footing to apologize. He lets out an undignified squeak when Iida lands beside them, a flailing arm just barely missing Denki’s head. 

He abandons his attempts to get his feet under him and curls up, tucking his head behind his arms in an attempt to protect himself. It takes several clicks for the shaking to stop, a time period that Denki spends with his eyes squeezed shut, listening to the desperate shouting of the others. There is a brief pause, but no one moves, something they are all grateful for when they are jolted by a rough impact that pushes Denki into a roll off of Ur’aka and onto his back beside her. Denki remains curled up on the floor for many clicks after everything stops shaking. 

“The fuck was that shit?” Bak’go’s voice is harsh and abrasive. It would sound completely normal if not for the slight tremor in his breath. 

“Language! If I’m not mistaken, it seems as if we’ve just landed somewhere.” Denki can tell that Iida is trying to be helpful, but he can feel Bak’go’s glare without having to look up. 

“No shit, four eyes, I meant the shaking!” 

“Sho’a…” Ya’ada-sensei whispers, drawing Denki’s attention from across the room. “I don’t like this.”

“I know, I know.”

“Do you think this is it?” Denki’s mouth dries at the implication of Ya’ada-sensei’s words.

“I don’t know. Honestly,” Az’awa-sensei’s eyes drift toward the door leading to the hallway, and he sucks in a shallow breath. “It’s likely.” 

“What’s likely?” It appears that Denki wasn’t the only one eavesdropping. “What aren’t you telling us?” To’roki stands in a fluid motion, casually brushing off his clothes without taking his eyes off of their teachers. The others are all watching now. Listening. 

Ya’ada-sensei and Az’awa-sensei exchange glances. Denki feels a little like a kid again, watching his parents make an important decision that he gets no say in. It isn’t any less miserable the tenth time around. 

“We can’t be certain of anything yet.” Ya’ada-sensei speaks first, taking on the brunt of his classmates’ accusatory gazes. 

“Sho’a, safe?” Denki turns to look at Mi’oria when they interrupt, an unreadable expression on their face. Unfortunately, all of their expressions are unreadable to him. Mi’oria is holding a hand out to Sin’so to help them up as they speak. 

“Yes, yes, safe.” Az’awa-sensei seems relieved by the brief respite. “You, Mi’oria? Sin’so and Mi’oria safe?”

Sin’so, in a move eerily similar to To’roki, brushes off their clothes as they regain their footing. “I safe. Mi’oria safe.” Sin’so makes a motion with their hand, gesturing to the room. “Danger?”

Az’awa-sensei hesitates this time. It’s only for a few ticks, but it’s long enough for Sin’so’s gaze to harden. They step closer to the bars, and their voice lowers when they speak again. “Danger, yes?” 

“Maybe.” Sin’so doesn’t seem to like that answer, their mouth thinning as they share a glance with Mi’oria. Abruptly, they turn away from the bars and step back, pulling Mi’oria with them. The two begin speaking, their voices tense and low, showing no indication of returning to the conversation. 

“What do you mean, ‘maybe’?” Ur’aka’s voice is soft. It doesn’t sound weak, but he can tell she is shaken. “You don’t know?” 

“Earlier, you said ‘it’s likely’.” Denki adds, anxiety seeping into his mouth and tangling around his tongue. “Does that mean that it’s likely to be dangerous? Is something bad going to happen?” 

“Whatever happens, we’ll do our best to make sure that you come out of it unharmed.” Silence descends over their cell, disrupted only by the soft chatter of the Terrans. His teachers are staring at each other again, their muscles lined with tension. Denki can’t bring himself to look anywhere else but at the silent interaction. He thinks he might be waiting for some kind of reassurance. 

A false promise. 

A lie. 

But Az’awa-sensei has never been the type to make a promise he can’t keep. 

When Az’awa-sensei and the Terrans tense simultaneously, ticks before the sound of the guards’ approaching footsteps reach him, he wonders which one he would have preferred. Denki and Ur’aka hold onto each other’s hands as they huddle into the corner, the door sliding open to reveal a group of guards that have become all too familiar.

The Firierodu, Njilu, and Elerack usually dealing with Mi’oria or Bak’go walk into the room, far later than they usually would be if they planned to take either to the Adaptation Chamber. Almost immediately, Az’awa-sensei closes the distance between himself and the bars, snapping at the guards and drawing their attention. It’s unnerving, given that Az’awa-sensei is usually the one making sure they act docile, intent on seemingly keeping their captors happy - specifically in regards to Bak’go. 

“You guys must be pretty new to the whole ‘pirate’ gig if your ship is in such bad condition that it can’t even stabilize itself during re-entry,” Az’awa-sensei states casually, stalking along the bars of their cell. His narrowed eyes never leave the guards, the Njilu growling and taking a step closer. “I mean, seriously, that landing was pathetic.” 

Ya’ada-sensei takes a step forward, feathers fluffed, his anxiety obvious in every twitch of his head. “Sho’a-” 

Az’awa-sensei flicks a tail toward Ya’ada-sensei in an obvious attempt to quiet him before speaking louder, drowning out the other’s voice. “I bet I could take this ship with my eyes closed if it weren’t for these bars, and I’d still fly it better than all of you combined.” 

“You’ve got a big mouth on you, Era’suur. I’d be careful if I were you,” the Elerack snaps at Az’awa-sensei.

The Njilu’s rumbling language is quick to fill the air soon after, with the robotic translation soon to follow. “That’s a lot of cockiness for someone who’s spent their last moon cycle in captivity as quiet as a…” The translator cuts out before finishing the sentence, unable to find a word in Common that matches, but Denki would not be at all surprised if it were an insult. 

“It’s not cockiness if it’s true. Why don’t you come in here so I can show you?”

Ya’ada-sensei lets out an aborted squaaawk , feathers ruffling. “Sho’a, please-”

Az’awa-sensei finally throws a stern glance over his shoulder, eyes landing on Ya’ada-sensei. “‘Ashi, stop!” he hisses. The interaction lasts for less than two ticks, but Ya’ada-sensei takes a shocked step back nonetheless. Denki’s eyes drift back to the guards, and he resists the urge to hold his breath. 

What if they actually do it? They aren’t prepared, they didn’t plan for this. They aren’t ready for a fight. Not even Bak’go has spoken up yet. 

He skims the guards’ faces, searching for any signs that they may take Az’awa-sensei up on his ill-advised offer. So, despite his familiarity with Kiri’ima’s mannerisms, when the Firierodu releases a grating sound that resembles rocks grinding roughly past each other, it takes him a moment to recognize it as an expression of joy. 

“As amusing as you are, we have business to attend to.” The Elerack steps to the side, in front of the door to the Terran’s cell, and a bolt of fear causes sparks to fly from his antenna. Ura’aka flinches, but she does not let go. A slowly growing ache forming in his hand is drawn to the forefront of his mind when he remembers that they have spent the last several clicks holding onto each other for dear life. 

For the first time since the guards have entered, he turns to Mi’oria and Sin’so. Both Terrans have taken a step away from the bars. They stand close together, their bodies tense and expressions severe despite the confusion, clear in the way they both tilt their heads ever so slightly. 

In the back of his mind, Denki empathizes with them. It’s terrifying for Denki, and he can, at least, understand what’s being said, even if he doesn’t know why. It must be even worse to have no idea what’s going on with no real way to find out. 

“You’re here for the Terrans?” Az’awa-sensei asks, his voice thick with an unidentifiable emotion. He and Ya’ada-sensei exchange a tense glance. Quietly, he adds, “Why didn’t we consider that?” 

“No,” the Elerack responds slyly. “We’re here for one Terran.” Denki takes a stumbling step back, inhaling sharply. The others don’t react much better, but Az’awa-sensei takes a different approach. 

As he takes several rapid steps toward the bars that divide them from the Terrans, Az’awa-sensei speaks quickly, as if expecting to be cut off. “Mi’oria, Sin’so!” Mi’oria turns, scanning Az’awa-sensei for a moment before turning back to the guards. Sin’so doesn’t react. Az’awa-sensei must decide that half attention is better than none, though, because he continues. “You danger!” 

Several eyes land on Denki’s teacher at the same time. Sin’so’s piercing gaze, for once, bores into Az’awa-sensei, as if willing him to elaborate. Or to take it back. The Elerack, on the other hand, definitely disagrees. “Hey - shut up! What are you doing?” Their voice is enraged, twisting with tension. 

But it’s too late; the damage has been done. It is a fact that is only cemented when Az’awa-sensei adds, “Danger, you fight.” 

Immediately, the Terrans raise their arms and bend their knees, settling into a low stance, gearing up for the fight. In the end, their efforts are in vain. Before anyone can make another move, the Firierodu yanks out a small device. “I’m not getting paid enough for this shit,” they mutter, just barely loud enough to be heard, as they unceremoniously tap the screen.

Mi’oria and Sin’so’s bodies lock up, limbs spasming and collapsing to the ground. A stray arc of electricity flashes from one of Mi’oria’s cuffs. The door hasn’t even opened yet. The Terrans never stood a chance. It’s a chilling thought. Only after they are immobilized does the Elerack reach forward to unlock the doors. 

“No! Fight, fight! Damn it, get up!” Az’awa-sensei yells at them, leaning into the bars separating their cells, as if he could get through to help them so long as he wills it to be so. 

“Show’s over, Era’suur, why don’t you go lick your wounds in silence?” The Firierodu steps into the cell, reaching down and hauling Mi’oria over their shoulder. The only sign of resistance is the weak tugging at their cuffs when they snap together, leaving them fully bound and at the guards’ mercy. Or, in this case, lack thereof. 

Sin’so groans as they struggle to get up, their limbs uncooperative and flimsy beneath them. Denki holds his breath, hoping against hope that Sin’so can manage to gather the strength to save Mi’oria from whatever danger they’re being taken to. “Sin’so, up! Fight!” Az’awa-sensei is nearing hysteria with his attempts to get Sin’so to fight, but the guards pay no mind to any of them. They leave the cell, the door slamming shut with a bang! and a damning click-click of the locks sliding into place. Sin’so gets up, barely, stumbling to the cell door as the guards walk away, ignoring everything going on behind them. 

Sin’so smacks into the bars, unable to fully regain their balance yet from the shock, their limbs jerking slightly at the aftershocks. “Midoriya!” 

The guards exit the cell block, taking Mi’oria with them and out of sight. Sin’so lets loose a wordless - at least he assumes it’s wordless, their language is hard to miss - cry as they slump against the door, sliding down until they’re sitting down. Their head is leaned back, tucked neatly into the space between two bars as they ride the last of the aftershocks, teeth gritted and eyes squeezed shut. 

With Mi’oria’s endless chatter and the guards’ menacing presences removed, there is nothing to ward away the silence that descends upon the room, oppressive and deadly. Sin’so’s breaths are harsh between their teeth, hissing out with every jerk of their body. For a few clicks, no one dares to move or speak. “Sho’a,” Sin’so finally says when the twitching dies down, their voice cracking horribly. “Guards go? Mi’oria go?”

Az’awa-sensei doesn’t respond, sitting at the bars with his head hung low. Both Sin’so’s and his classmates’ eyes bore into Az’awa-sensei, but he doesn’t respond. Denki thinks this might be the first time since they were captured that his teacher isn’t putting on a brave face or attempting to reassure his students. He thinks, furthermore, this might be the first time that Denki has truly feared for his own and his friends’ lives. In the end, it’s Ya’ada-sensei who answers. It isn’t possible to give a roundabout answer with a vocabulary as small as the one they must use. “Guards want Mi’oria fight.”

“What do you mean by that?” The words slip free from Denki’s mouth before he can stop them. Suddenly, all those questions he had before the landing come flooding back to the forefront of his mind. His stomach rolls as he starts to piece together a very ugly, very terrifying picture of where exactly Mi’oria is going. 

Sin’so leans towards the bars. The action is slow. Painful. “Guards want fight?”

Ya’ada-sensei shuffles his feathers nervously as he approaches Az’awa-sensei, slowly wrapping a wing over Az’awa-sensei’s hunched body. “No,” Ya’ada-sensei stares, resigned and helpless, at Az’awa-sensei for a moment before continuing slowly. “Guards no want fight. Guards want Mi’oria fight.”

“It’s an illegal fighting ring,” Az’awa-sensei says quietly. “Mi’oria is being taken to an illegal fighting ring, and they either won’t come back at all, or...” Az’awa-sensei trails off, but the rest is heavily implied. Or they’ll come back with blood staining their skin. Blood that they can never truly wash out. 

---------------------

Izuku likes knowing things. 

It is one of his more straightforward traits, and while he’s not sure what the root cause of the desire for knowledge is, the fact still stands. Izuku likes knowing things. Which, consequently, means that he doesn’t like not knowing things. No, ‘doesn’t like’ is not quite right. There are few things that he hates more than a lack of understanding. To a certain degree, Izuku needs to know as much as he possibly can about any situation he finds himself in. Without that knowledge he feels lost, adrift in a void of confusion. Without that knowledge, Izuku has no control over himself or what happens to him, and that is simply unacceptable to him. 

Which is why, in the past - at a minimum - ten minutes that he has been stuck in this alien vehicle, he has come to the conclusion that these are some of the worst moments he has ever experienced. 

It’s entirely his fault, too. The thing is, Izuku has a habit. He isn’t sure if it’s a good or bad habit, but it’s something he has been doing since he was too young to remember. A coping mechanism of sorts. When Izuku gets stressed or starts to feel out of control, he makes a list. Easy, right? Wrong. More specifically, he makes a list of the things he knows. It helps because he tends to surprise himself by how much he actually knows about a situation, even if he feels like he’s walking blindly across a busy highway. There are always details, no matter how miniscule, that he can add to his list. Making lists such as these have always given Izuku something to hold on to, some intangible guide to follow. 

Always, until now. 

Because this time, for the first time that he can recall, Izuku really is walking blindly across a busy highway. While hopping on one leg. Backwards. 

So far, his sad, pitifully bare list is as follows. First, Izuku has been kidnapped by aliens. Second, Izuku is being transported somewhere by said aliens in some kind of alien truck with no windows. Third, Izuku is on some random planet - or even a moon for all he knows - with a rough surface because this ride has been far from pleasant. Fourth, his never-failing list is only four bullet points long, and one of those is about the list itself.

Izuku’s list has never been this short before. He should add a fifth part: He is completely and utterly doomed. Or not. Because that would mean he has to edit the fourth bullet point, and he needs to keep it orderly. Then again, even if he did add the fifth bullet point, it would still be about the list itself and not the situation he’s in. Well, other than the fact that he’s completely and utterly doomed. So technically, that means bullet four is also void, and now he’s back down to three. No wait, four?  Wait, what? No, now he’s confused himself. Fuck. 

Okay, to keep it orderly, point four, part two: His list is no longer never-failing. Oh, and he is still completely and utterly doomed. That too. 

The truck jerks to a stop abruptly, and Izuku’s shoulder slams into the wall on his right. He winces, forgetting about his cuffs for long enough to attempt to reach up to check his shoulder. His only success with the attempt lies with further chafing the raw skin under his cuffs, and making his injured wrist flare up in fresh, throbbing agony. 

Hooray. 

His life is so fun. Amazing. Truly. 

He shoots his three guards - all of whom, by the way, decided that the best way to make sure he behaved was to squeeze into this stupid portable cell with him - a glare. He’s getting sick of sitting here. No, scratch that, he’s getting sick of everything.  

Suddenly, against his will, all of his muscles tense, a heavy pressure against the inside of his ribcage ready to burst free. His throat swells shut, tongue thickening inside his mouth and unwilling to allow himself a breath of air. Desperately, he digs his nails into his palms, over the thick material covering his thighs, across any stretch of his skin he can reach without strain. Digging, clawing, scraping away at the creepy crawling feeling beneath his skin, demanding to be set loose.

He goes cross eyed at the lack of air, a pounding rhythm beating like a drum behind his temples, black spots bursting across his vision. The emotions in his chest, too all consuming to name, overwhelm his senses until he’s positive he’s going to black out. 

The grating sound of metal scraping past metal suddenly pierces through him, echoing around the cell. 

It isn’t the first time he’s heard it; the same noise cut the air when he was locked in here to begin with. With a flinch just as violent as the first time around, he manages to suck in a heavy gasp of air, the itch fading. It’s still there, lurking, crawling sluggishly through his veins, but it has dissipated enough to bring his focus back to the present. 

He lifts both hands to his face, scrubbing roughly at his eyes, biting back a hiss when he moves his injured wrist the wrong way. Despite the lingering tenderness, he’s glad his wrist seems to be nearly healed by now. He would hate to go into whatever this is with one hand out of commission. 

God fucking damn it. What has his life become? 

Moments after he pulls his fingers away, the back of the vehicle, and what he knows is the only way free of the suffocating space, slides up with a whoosh . Sunlight - real, warm , illuminating sunlight - floods into the cell, and Izuku can’t help the quiet, desperate gasp that escapes him. Izuku doesn’t resist when T-Rex grabs his bicep, yanking him up and out of the cell carelessly. The metal of the cuffs bite into his raw skin. He can’t bring himself to care about the bruise that he knows he’ll find later, though, when he can close his eyes and pretend the sunlight seeping into his skin is coming from Earth’s sun. 

He almost starts smiling. Almost . Almost, because there’s a reason that they brought him here. There’s a reason that he’s standing in the sun right now instead of leaning on unforgiving bars. The thought is enough to chase the euphoria of the moment away, and Izuku returns to reality just in time to catch himself when T-Rex shoves him forward. He sighs, breathing away the last of his joy, the last of the incessant itch fading away. His vision sharpens, gaze morphing to something more critical. He jogs a few steps forward to catch up with Monkey and Volts, who began to pull ahead when he paused after leaving the vehicle. 

The air around him is humid and warm, a stark contrast from the dry, artificial mix of gasses that he has been breathing for the last few days. The rocks beneath his feet are flat but cracked in an uneven way that has him struggling to stay upright. The ground is coated in a thin layer of moisture, indicative of recent rain, and he is glad that his boots don’t seem to have much trouble gripping the slick surface. 

The guards usher him quickly into the massive metal building in front of him, preventing him from getting the chance to glance at the outside of the structure. It blocks out most of the light from the sun as they close in, casting them in a heavy shadow. The few plants scattered around emit a soft, neon glow in the shadows. They provide a source of soft light for him to see where he’s going - not that it helps much, considering his restricted movements. 

When they step up to what appears to be a large set of double doors, constructed from the same material that the rest of the building is made out of, Volts bangs impatiently on the metal. Someone responds, the sound coming from a small speaker above the doors, and Volts snaps back, irritation clear in their tone. Izuku tries to decipher the meaning, attempting to connect the few words that he has learned to what he is hearing, but he is largely unsuccessful. The only thing he manages to catch is one word at the end of the response: “fast.” 

The next thing he knows, the doors are swinging inwards, and he is being shoved forward. Izuku takes a few steps willingly before registering the fact that not a single one of his guards has followed him into the building. He spins around, wide eyes locking on to the aliens he’s become vaguely familiar with. At least with them, he has an idea of what to expect. He only manages to take one step forward before the doors slam shut with an echoing bang.  

He is about to rush to the doors, attempting - certainly uselessly - to pry them open, when he finally notices the four newcomers that stand on either side of the entrance. All of them carry a spear-like weapon. The blades attached to the ends of the long shafts are serrated and in the shape of an extended dagger. He looks around, taking note of the size of the room around him. It isn’t giant, but it is significantly bigger than the small hallways that snake through the ship that he has become accustomed to. It’s the type of room where a weapon with more range, not unlike the ones that the new guards are clutching, would be useful. And, he concludes, those spears are probably great for forcing a prisoner to go wherever they want. 

A guard shifts, and his eyes snap to one of their limbs, which is cradling the remote that Monkey was shielding with such caution just a few moments earlier. He narrows his eyes at the source of so many of his struggles. Izuku wants to break down the guards’ appearances, searching for weakness, but he doesn’t have much time to analyze any of the aliens before they begin herding him toward a second pair of doors. He recognizes one as another of Volts’ and Kam’nari’s species, but the rest blur together as his attention shifts. 

This time, as they approach, the doors swing open to reveal a giant, open area beyond. The ground is made up of familiar slabs of moist rock with a few boulders - oddly out of place - scattered throughout. Distantly, he can hear the sound of running water on his left. 

But none of that matters. Not when his attention has been snagged by the raised bleachers, filled to the brim with spectators, surrounding the entire area. The roar of the crowd is deafening, vibrating through his bones and threatening to send him stumbling to the ground. Aliens of all kinds of species sit side by side, screaming, stomping, cheering as Izuku is forced through the doors at last, nearly tripping over his own feet. 

He stands, frozen, for several seconds, his eyes skimming across the crowd in a dazed sort of confusion. He blinks hard, trying to clear his mind. Izuku lifts his right arm, shoving the heel of his palm into the space between his eyes. Then, his eyes snap open. He looks down at his wrists - now separated - in shock. 

A scream of fury rips through the air abruptly, and Izuku gasps, head jerking back up in shock. At the other side of the area, someone is being shoved through a set of double doors. Behind him, a bang makes him flinch. He doesn’t need to look back; the doors that the other came through have closed as well. 

His heart beats loudly in his ears. 

There is a moment of silence, with the crowd going still, anticipation thick in the air. 

Then, without warning, the person opposite him charges. 

“We may call them aliens, but to them, we are the outsiders.” 

Chapter Text

Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump. A loud hammering sound assaults his ears, and it takes Izuku all too long to realize that the source is not his heartbeat. The cheering has died; the crowd stews in anxious anticipation, eyes locked on the sight below them. His eyes drift down to his hands, which shake in their raised position in front of his face. His chest is tight, and his breaths stutter in and out in a rough pattern. He sucks in a gasp, forcing himself to focus on what is in front of him. 

The alien that storms toward him, each footstep echoing through the arena, is not entirely unfamiliar to him. He has seen the species a few times before, accompanying him and Shinso as a guard on separate occasions. The creature is tall and covered in dark red fur. Pink skin, which he knows hides armor-like plates, is visible between the small gaps in the coat. The monkey-like alien opens its wide, cat-like mouth, lined with sharply pointed teeth, as it reaches a creek in its path, leaping over the small obstacle with a battle cry. 

Izuku jolts, finally snapped out of his terror induced stasis, registering that the alien is almost halfway across the arena now. His eyes flicker from side to side, rapidly scanning his surroundings. The left side of the arena is split by a stream of water that connects to a series of other creeks. There are a total of three boulders in the arena, one of which is only a little ways to his right. 

Hoping to buy himself some time to think, he takes off toward it. In the seconds that it takes him to circle around to the side of the boulder, the alien has closed the distance between them, and he catches a glimpse of red on the opposite side of the rock. Suddenly, a wave of cheering rises from the crowd. The sound of crumbling stone has his head snapping up. The alien emerges on top of the boulder, having scaled it at a record pace; likely due to the help of their six limbs. 

Without allowing himself a moment to question his decision, his legs carry him into a dead sprint toward the water. Behind him, the alien growls out something in frustration. He glances back - only for a moment - but it is enough time to catch a glimpse of the alien as they land. A boooom shakes the ground, and he turns away, only to be followed by the same pattern of thump s. He assumes that the other has taken up the chase. As he approaches a deeper section of the water, he leaps over a creek in an imitation of what the alien did previously. Then, he adjusts his course slightly, inhales sharply, and leaps into the water. He jumps far enough out that he submerges entirely, but only for a moment. Were he to stand up, his head would barely breach the surface, though likely not enough to be able to breathe. 

Extending his arms and planting his feet against the bottom, Izuku propels himself forward through the water. He reaches the other side quickly and pulls himself out of the now shallow water in a scrambling, desperate motion. He spins around, panting. The alien stands on the other side of the stream, haunches raised. They bark something at him angrily, teeth grinding, commanding him to “stop” something. They continue after a brief pause, yelling “fight me!” over the stomping of the audience, which abruptly goes quiet in an effort to hear what they are saying. 

Indignantly, despite the fact that he’s sure they won’t know what it means, he flips them off.

Izuku pants, trying in vain to catch his breath. Then the alien, again, starts running; except this time, they run to the side. With two quick leaps in succession to cross over the shallow parts of the creek, they arrive at the small island acting as a bridge between the main portion of the arena and himself. Izuku, heart pounding in his ears, takes off to his left towards the other deep part of the stream, his shoes sliding on the slick stone. Water seems to be his only advantage right now. 

Over here, the ground above which the water rests plunges more sharply downward, so Izuku takes a shallow dive in. He pushes against the ground as soon as it is within reach of his hands to gain momentum, rocketing himself into the deeper water. When he reaches the middle of the stream, he hears a splash, and he breaks the surface. He treads water as he gasps for breath, neck straining to inspect the surface of the water behind him. Panic seizes his throat when he does not spot even a sliver of red; they are nowhere to be seen. 

Then, something grabs hold of the back of his shirt from below and yanks, dragging him under the water. 

Caught by surprise, Izuku is forced to slap a hand over his mouth to keep from swallowing the water, using his other hand to lash out behind him. His movements are slowed by the water, but he manages to brush his fingers against a handful of fur. He latches on, using the strands as a handhold to assist him in swimming up. He manages a quick gasp of air before he’s yanked back down again. Terrified and regretting his decision to go in the water, he jerks his legs, trying to kick the alien hard enough to get them to let him go, however briefly. 

His mouth opens - against his will - in a silent scream when something sharp rips into his left side. Instinctively, he attempts to inhale, but is rewarded instead with a lungful of water. His body convulses in protest. His knee jerks sharply toward his chest, catching what he assumes to be the alien’s chin in the process. He takes it for what it is, a stroke of luck, and seizes the opportunity with both hands. With two powerful kicks, he darts back toward the edge of the creek. 

Izuku doesn’t allow himself even a moment of hesitation before he is rolling himself out of the water and onto his hands and knees, choking on the water that spews from his throat. When the sound of splashing in the water beside him reaches his ears, he flinches away, stumbling blearily to his feet. He tries to jog away from the water, but his gate is stumbling, and he barely makes it to the nearby boulder before he is forced to lean his weight against the rock. 

Ragged coughs wrack his frame, and his nails dig into the stone as he forces himself to remain upright. By the time he clocks the heavy footsteps approaching him, it is too late, and the right side of his body is flung against the jagged surface propping him up. He cries out weakly when two sets of hands grasp onto his arms in iron-like grips, spinning him so that his back is to the boulder. Then he is pulled toward the alien before being roughly slammed back, his head smacking painfully against the unforgiving stone. 

He groans weakly, breathing ragged, mind whirring as he tries to think of a way out of this. His planning is cut short, however, when spots explode across his vision after his head hits the rock for a second time. With a sudden burst of strength, driven by what can only be desperation and adrenaline, he hooks his foot around the back of one of the alien’s legs and surges forward. They fall together, but he throws his arms forward at the last second, shoving the alien into the ground while cushioning his fall. 

The crack that slices the air when they land reverberates through his body. He hesitates for a moment, barely half a second, afraid of what he may have just done, but then he hears a slick sliding sound. The first of the plates appear from between the folds in the alien’s skin. Izuku fumbles blindly for a rock. His fingers close around the first decently sized one that he grazes, and he grabs it tightly, bringing it up above him. 

Izuku knows that, when the plates have fully extended, he will not have the luxury of finding easily accessible weaknesses in the armor. He knows that, once this moment has passed, his injuries will begin to catch up to him. He knows that he may not be granted an opportunity like this again. He knows that he needs to do what he can while he can. If he doesn’t, he’ll be a sitting duck. If he doesn’t, he’ll be dead . 

He doesn’t want to die. 

He doesn’t want to die .  

He doesn’t want to die.  

In an explosion of motion, he goes for the thing that he knows will take the alien out of commission for the longest period of time. The rock, clutched in a white-knuckled grip, plunges down, down, down , toward the alien’s exposed throat, until it is no longer moving. The shockwave of the impact vibrates up his arms. He doesn’t realize what has just happened until there is a choking sound, and thick blood begins spilling over his hand. 

Red blood.  

Weakly, Izuku pulls away, the stone still grasped between his fingers. He looks at the rock in horror, realizing too late just how sharp the edge is. Viscous red liquid drips off the tip. The alien gurgles, jerking beneath him one time, before falling still. The blood begins pooling under his knees, rivulets of red running off into the water nearby. 

And there is just so much red. Red like human blood. Red so identical to his own that he can’t tell what belongs to him and what doesn’t. It soaks into his pants slowly as he processes what he’s done. He’s frozen, unable to move as the crowd roars, the sound beating against his eardrums and through his body. 

Izuku watches numbly as the rock falls from his fingers, hitting the ground with a dull clatter. His eyes drift to the alien’s prone body. The smell, a disturbing mix of vinegar and burnt metal, that hammers him in the face is the breaking point, and he gags, lunging to the side and off of the - off. Just off. His hands slip across the stone as he tries to find his balance. Stomach twisting, he retches, choking as he tries to catch his breath.  

A hand comes up to clutch at the front of his shirt, but when a wet sensation seeps through, he rapidly untangles his blood-soaked fingers from the fabric. The sob building in his throat finally escapes, his chest clenching tight. Oh my god, he realizes, tears beginning to stream down his cheeks. I just killed someone. And the worst part is, they weren’t even a guard. They were trapped, just like he was. Held captive in this hell. 

When his gaze finds the alien again, he can’t force himself to look away. Another sob bursts from his lips as his eyes find the alien’s, wide open, staring lifelessly up at the sky. He’s killed someone. A living, breathing, feeling person. They probably had a family. They probably had friends. They had people that now, thanks to him , they would never return to. People who might never even find out that they are dead. People who could spend years upon years searching relentlessly for them, only to discover that it was pointless all along. 

Will it be him next? Is this what will become of him? Lost to the void of space, his mother never knowing what happened to him? Was she going to become the mother of a lost child and the wife of a lost husband? And what about Mei? He promised he would help her get her business off the ground. He swore to her that they would get it up and running together. That, as soon as he was licensed to pilot, he would fly her ships and her ships alone. Is all that… lost now? His hands, still coated in blood, find their way to his hair, and he yanks on the strands. 

He misses Earth. He misses the feeling of grass between his toes. He misses the warmth of the sun on his face. Even the fucking relentless noise of the city. It’s so quiet in space. No horns blaring through traffic, or conversations of people walking down the sidewalk. The neighbors’ yappy but adorable little puppy, keeping them up all night. He misses the way his mom’s eyes crinkled when she laughed. He misses the sound of the explosions in Mei’s lab, the smell of oil, the organized chaos of her tools. He misses his home. 

He wants to go home .  

He doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to go home again. 

When he hears footsteps behind him, he doesn’t turn. He knows it is likely the guards, come to collect him from this fucked up arena. He can’t find it in himself to fight them. He kind of wants to leave, anyway. He still hasn’t managed to take his eyes off of the alien. Off of his victim.  

The guards haul him to his feet, hands gripping his arms harshly as the cuffs reactivate, snapping his wrists together forcefully. He tears his eyes away from the alien as more guards start dragging them out. He decides instead to stare at his hands, still dripping rhythmically against the stones with a splat, splat, splat. He leaves a trail halfway across the arena, back to the door he was shoved through. It’s an agonizingly long trek, stretching into eternity before they finally close the distance. Izuku keeps his head down. He doesn’t want to see the bloodthirsty glee on the audience’s faces, even if he can hear it clearly. Their screams and shouts follow him until the doors slam shut, muffling the crowd. 

The adrenaline is fading, now; he can feel a growing throbbing in his side, and he is fairly certain that he has a mild concussion. He’s had a concussion before - his best friend is Hastume Mei. It wasn’t bad, and, luckily, this one seems to be similar. Honestly, though, what does it matter? Who gives a fuck whether his head is pounding or not? If he has no chance of survival anyway, what difference does it make? 

He’s going to die out here; a headache is the least of his worries. 

A guard steps away from the group and heads for the wall. He’s too tired to care, he just wants to go back to his cell and sleep until he’s dead. Shouldn’t take too long; these aliens don’t seem to like him very much. A hysterical giggle threatens to escape, but he has enough sense to hold it back. The last thing he needs right now is a pissed off alien yelling at him, effectively making the pounding in his skull worse. 

Izuku is broken from his musings as he’s blasted with a harsh jet of water. This time, he can’t suppress the soulless huff of laughter that escapes him. That’s another thing. He misses showers. 

“The universe is under no obligation to make sense to you.” 

---------------------

“Peace, you… want slow?” The bird-like alien has been persistent in attempting to communicate with him, and it’s starting to grate on his nerves. He clenches his jaw and rolls his eyes, turning on his heel to continue pacing the length of the cell. 

“No, I want Midoriya… back,” he mumbles, giving up on trying to formulate words in whatever language the aliens speak. What will it matter, anyway? Midoriya isn’t here. “I just want him back.” He sighs, exhausted, as he scrubs at his face with his hands. 

Hitoshi is not stupid. In fact, he’d like to consider himself to be the opposite. So it doesn’t take long for him to connect the dots. Fighting for sport is popular on Earth, and there are several sports that center around it. Why wouldn’t it be popular in space too? The real question is whether or not this is a fight, or a fight to the death . The latter isn’t as popular on Earth for… obvious reasons. But it’s clear that whatever this operation is, it is not legal. Or, at least, he hopes it isn’t. 

Hitoshi picks at his fingernails as he continues to block out the quiet argument between the aliens. That grows increasingly challenging, though, when he hears someone calling his name - or, rather, the butchered version of his name. He tries to ignore it at first, but they try again, raising their volume. With an irritated growl, he finally turns, fixing his glare on… ugh… Sho’a. Of course it’s that one. 

At this point, he is so frustrated and worried that he can’t even find satisfaction in the way that the alien shrinks away from his gaze ever so slightly. 

“Yes?” His voice is flat as he momentarily stops pacing to give Sho’a his undivided attention. Sho’a shifts, their tails curling hypnotically behind them in what has to be irritation. 

Sho’a breathes deeply, leaning forward slightly as they say, in an unnecessarily commanding tone, “You sleep.” 

Hitoshi’s unforgiving stare melts into shock before shifting into anger. No. Fury. “How fucking dare you - you - gah!” Hitoshi throws his hands up in the air, resisting the urge to punch the wall. They can’t understand a single damn word he is saying! “No! Midoriya fight. I’m… I hide.” He digs his fingers into his hair, yanking on the strands. He isn’t hiding, he isn’t. He knows that. But how is this any better? When he’s here and not there , fighting beside the only friend he has out here. 

“Peace!” Ya’ada calls from just behind the bars. “You no hide. You… peace.” 

“Shut the fuck up!” His voice pitches when he shouts, and the cells go silent, allowing his outburst to echo. His throat tightens. He presses the heels of his palms into his eyes, attempting to ward off a headache. Hitoshi takes a deep breath to calm himself, trying to think of a way to explain to these aliens that no, he is not ‘peace’, he’s angry and worried and scared, and he just wants Midoriya to come back. Safely. In one piece. Where Hitoshi can protect him. 

The faint sound of approaching footsteps has Hitoshi snapping his head towards the door. In an instant, he is standing at the bars, curling his fingers around the metal. His eyes are trained on the door, as though, were he to try hard enough, he could see through it. He can’t hear any more noise from the aliens’ cell, so he assumes that they have taken up their usual positions in the corner. Hitoshi flexes his fingers, wishing he was able to rip the bars off their hinges so he could reach Midoriya faster. They already took away his home and family, they can’t have Midoriya too. God, he just feels so helpless- 

But suddenly, it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter because the door to the hallway is being pulled open, and he sees them. He sees him. The only other human he has laid eyes on since getting kidnapped. And Midoriya… Midoriya looks horrible.  

He’s soaking wet from head to toe, leaving a trail of water on the floor as they march him forward. Small cuts litter his body, and he… he is bleeding. Oh my god, he is actually bleeding. There’s a thin smear of blood on his forehead. Some of it matted into his hair and there’s a few streaks dripping down and into his eyes. He reaches up to clear his eyes, but he only succeeds in leaving behind even more blood because his hands are bleeding too. Hitoshi can feel his breathing speeding up as his eyes flicker from injury to injury, searching for anything he could have missed. Hitoshi backs away from the bars as the guards turn Midoriya, nearly tripping over his own feet when he sees claw marks in Midoriya’s ripped shirt. The edges of the shirt around the wound are glued to the skin by the blood, and the wound itself is already starting to scab.

Midoriya doesn’t look up from the ground, even as he is roughly shoved through the door. He stumbles, and Hitoshi twitches, itching to help him, but Midoriya catches himself. 

Hitoshi holds still as the guards leave, waiting until the door slides shut behind them before crossing the distance quickly and gently tugging Midoriya further into the cell. “Hey, are you…” Hitoshi trails off because, clearly, Midoriya is not okay. “Sit down, let me take a look at your wounds.”

Midoriya listens obediently, slowly sinking to the floor with Hitoshi guiding him down. He’s almost afraid to touch Midoriya; he has no idea where exactly he’s injured. Not to mention, the other has neglected to let a single sound slip from his lips. His usually talkative companion is eerily silent, and it feels so… wrong. Unnatural. 

“Midoriya,” he says, voice a whisper. He is not offered a response, or even an acknowledgement that Midoriya heard him. “Please, Midoriya.” This time, his voice cracks. Finally, Midoriya’s head tilts up, and their eyes meet. Hitoshi’s teeth sink into the inside of his cheek. His eyes look empty. Dull. Lifeless. 

Hitoshi forces himself to take a deep breath and focus on what is most important. First things first, he needs to tend to the wounds so they don’t get infected. An infection is likely one of the worst things that could happen, considering that they have no access to antibiotics, and they have no idea what kind of bacteria they could encounter. After that… well, he’ll cross that bridge when gets there. 

“Midoriya, can you lift your arms? I need to get your shirt off so I can see the damage,” he explains calmly. Slowly, Midoriya lifts his arms above his head, allowing Hitoshi to peel the soaked fabric off him and throw it to the side. He can see many more small cuts, previously concealed by the garment, but they have all already scabbed over. His top priorities are the gouges left by the claws of whatever Midoriya had to fight. 

Hitoshi pats the pockets of his pants, searching for the small bottles that contain what he hopes is some kind of antiseptic. He finds it hard to believe that the aliens would fail to supply a medical area with something as crucial as a wound sterilizer. Finally, he pulls out one of the small bottles. It is about the size of his palm, and it is only now that he is remembering that he has no idea how to open it. He is about to tear the lid off in his urgency when he hears the aliens calling his name. He considers ignoring them. It would be so easy. But he doesn’t really know what this is, and they could be trying to tell him that he is about to poison Midoriya. 

Reluctantly, Hitoshi turns to face the aliens. Kam’nari is holding up a water bottle. It is the same water bottle that Midoriya has handed to him several times before. This time, however, it is closed, displaying a lid that looks just like the one on the bottle. Kam’nari deliberately and slowly squeezes the sides of the cap. They then tap the top and pull off the lid after it pops up. He bobs his head once, the largest display of gratitude that he is willing to show, before copying the steps on his own bottle. He takes the offered assistance to mean that it is safe to use the hopefully-antiseptic. 

With his free hand, Hitoshi pulls out one of the packages of gauze and quickly unwraps it. He holds it out and lets a few drops of the liquid seep into the material, gently and methodically beginning to clean Midoriya’s side. Every so often, the other tenses next to him, but he relaxes just as quickly, and Hitoshi forces himself to push forward. When he finishes with the claw marks, he presses the same piece of gauze over the wound, mimicking the alien that treated his head. After just a moment of holding it in place, the gauze flattens out, laying over the wound seamlessly. When he lets go, it does not fall off. 

Hitoshi reaches for Midoriya’s right hand, catching a glimpse of his face. He forces himself to look away just as quickly, but that haunted expression has already imprinted itself into his mind. Focus, Hitoshi. First things first, he tells himself before sucking in another calming breath and going back to the task at hand. 

He is in the process of wrapping up with Midoriya’s left hand before something changes. The crushing silence that he doesn’t think he would have ever managed to adjust to is finally splintered by… snickering? Midoriya’s frame trembles as his hysterical giggling grows into laughter, volume steadily increasing. Hitoshi sits back on his heels as Midoriya slaps his right hand over his eyes.

“It’s so funny,” Midoriya gasps between cackles. Hitoshi’s stomach twists as his unease grows. “Look at my hands!” Midoriya thrusts his palms in front of Hitoshi’s face, and he flinches back. “It’s all mine.” 

Hesitantly, Hitoshi responds, gaze flickering from Midoriya’s newly bandaged hands to his face. “What are you talking about?” 

“The blood!” Midoriya laughs again, wheezing slightly as he tries to catch his breath. His eyes are wild as he draws his hands closer to himself. “It’s all mine!” 

“Of course it’s all yours.” Hitoshi tries to weave confidence into his words, but his voice breaks halfway through the sentence. 

“No, no, you don’t get it,” Midoriya says, eyes wide as he leans forward. Hitoshi gets the eerie sensation that Midoriya isn’t really seeing him right now. “You don’t get it at all.” 

“Midoriya, I don’t know what you’re talking about. Please, just-” 

“They washed it all away!” Midoriya leaps to his feet, shouting his words, his hysterical smile growing desperate. Hitoshi falls back on his hands. He stares, uncomprehendingly, up at the other. For the first time while Midoriya is in his presence, a touch of fear seeps into his heart. 

“What did they wash away?” Hitoshi is much too quiet for Midoriya to hear, but it doesn’t matter. He doesn’t think Midoriya is really speaking to him, anyway. 

“All of the blood. Not mine, though. No, not mine.” Suddenly, Midoriya’s eyes clear, and he takes several striding steps forward until he can crouch right in front of Hitoshi once more. “They washed away the evidence, Shinso. The remnants of their existence. They’re gone forever. And it’s all because of me.”  

Chapter Text

“Midoriya.” Hitoshi’s heart pounds in his chest, threatening to burst from between his ribs, but his voice is even. Controlled. “You’re scaring me.” 

He stares nervously into Midoriya’s wide, green, uncomprehending eyes. Midoriya blinks slowly as he leans back slightly, out of Hitoshi’s space. He takes the opportunity to scoot away, back toward the bars. With another blink, Midoriya’s eyebrows furrow, and he leans forward once more. Hitoshi goes to move further away, but a voice stops him in his tracks. 

“Mi’oria.” Hitoshi twists, scrambling to his feet. He takes a step to the side this time, away from both the aliens and Midoriya. He hates feeling cornered. Some degree of composure regained, he turns to face… uh, the red and white lizard. What was their name again? Whatever - it doesn’t matter. His breath is caught in his throat, and he is searching for the words to tell the lizard to mind their own business, when he follows their gaze. It seems obvious in hindsight, but they are looking at Midoriya; they aren’t looking at him. He relaxes slightly. “Stop.” 

For several seconds, nothing happens, and Hitoshi wonders what the alien was hoping to accomplish. Then, he finds himself watching in astonishment as the gears begin to turn behind Midoriya’s eyes. As he processes the words, translating them in his head, he seems to be dragged back to the present. To his body and the world around it. Finally, clarity seeps into Midoriya’s expression, and a horrified gaze returns to Hitoshi. 

“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry!” Midoriya blurts. His fingers twitch forward, but he does not take a step. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” 

Hitoshi hesitates, just for a moment, before he steps closer to Midoriya. “Hey, it’s okay. You’re okay.”

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” Midoriya mumbles, hunching in on himself a little. Hitoshi gingerly lays a hand on his shoulder, wary of brushing against any blooming bruises. 

“You didn’t scare me.” Hitoshi pauses when Midoriya looks at him in clear disbelief before he crumbles. “Okay, you didn’t scare me that badly.” Midoriya folds his arms, looking down at the floor, his lips pressed into a thin line. 

“Still, I shouldn’t have… I don’t know, gone crazy?” 

“At this point, I think we both deserve to be a little crazy.” Midoriya’s lips barely lift into the ghost of a smile before dropping back into a frown. Biting the inside of his cheek, Hitoshi softly asks, “What hap-”

“Mi'oria, yes?” Hitoshi turns at the interruption, eyes finding Kam’nari. They are standing mere inches from the bars and bouncing from one foot to the other. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he catches Midoriya offering a strained close-lipped smile accompanied by an incline of his head. “Yes.” 

Kam’nari slumps, offering a jerky nod in return. Sparks of electricity arc between their antennae. Hitoshi exhales through his nose, reaching out to place a gentle hand on Midoriya’s arm, barely even touching him. “Midoriya,” he says softly, drawing Midoriya’s attention back to him. “What happened to you? What caused all… this?” His gaze flickers pointedly over Midoriya’s body. 

Logically, he has a pretty good idea. Logically, he knows what went down when Midoriya was taken away, but logic can’t smother the hope that he’s wrong. And Hitoshi really hopes he translated wrong. 

“Right.” Midoriya looks back to the aliens, all watching with fixed gazes from the other cell. He casts a reassuring smile at Hitoshi. This time, though, Hitoshi catches the flicker of emptiness in his eyes. He doesn’t know whether to be relieved or not that he can see it now. “I should probably update them, too.” 

Hitoshi bites back irritation at the mention of the aliens. Midoriya doesn’t need to deal with his dislike of the aliens right now. “...If you feel the need to, then sure.” Okay, well. He tried, that’s all that matters.

Midoriya’s eyes fill with exasperation, and he huffs as he folds his arms across his chest. “If something like this happens again, everyone should know what’s going on.” Midoriya raises his eyebrows at Hitoshi’s unconcerned expression before continuing. “C’mon, if we were in their shoes, you’d have much less patience than they’ve displayed.” Hitoshi silently turns his head to the orange lizard, who has been glaring at the two of them and pacing back and forth for the last several minutes. The corner of Midoriya’s lips twitch when the orange lizard releases a quiet growl at his gaze. “Much less patience than most of them have displayed.” 

Finally, Hitoshi shifts back to face Midoriya, blocking out the quiet, angry whispering coming from the other cell. “Fine, I’ll try to be…” Hitoshi scrunches up his nose in disgust. “ Civil . I can be civil.”

“Thank you.” Midoriya sounds both relieved and exhausted when he speaks, and Hitoshi ignores the pang of guilt that arises. “I’ll try to tell you both at once. If you have any problems with the translation, just let me know.” With a self-assured nod, Midoriya directs his attention back to the aliens. “Sho’a,” Midoriya calls, and the cat alien’s ears stand up at attention. Looks like they are almost as eager to find out what happened as Hitoshi is.

“Yes?”  

Midoriya bites his lip, taking a few steps forward and crouching down slowly at the bars to be at eye level with Sho’a. His words come slowly, unsure. “Guards want me fight,” he begins. This is the easiest part. This is the part that everyone already knows. “I no want fight. I fast go.” 

Midoriya pauses, turning his head away from the aliens. Sho’a, quietly, encourages midoriya to continue. “Yes, Mi’oria?”

Hitoshi’s lips press together anxiously as he translates, slowly piecing together the meaning of this stilted conversation. If the state that the other returned in is any indication, running away did not go very well. “Danger fast.” There it is. Hitoshi breathes out slowly in an effort to calm his nerves. Midoriya is right here. He’s alive. That is all that matters. 

Not to everyone, though, which the orange lizard makes very clear when Midoriya pauses for a moment too long. “Speak! You speak!”

Hitoshi takes a step towards the bars, ready and willing to face off against this overgrown iguana for speaking to Midoriya like that. His face twists into a snarl, and he inhales sharply. The asshole doesn’t back down, even when the bird alien squawks something that he doesn’t understand at them. 

He’s in the midst of attempting to work out a way to get at the lizard through the bars when Midoriya speaks again, his voice rising over the commotion as he stands up, pressing a hand to his injured side. “I fight!” Anticipatory silence descends upon the room as the focus turns back to Midoriya. “ I fight, no danger.” 

Hitoshi waits for a second, then two, then five, then ten, but Midoriya doesn’t continue. “That’s it?” Midoriya’s brows furrow when their eyes meet. “‘I fight, no danger.’ What does that mean?” Midoriya’s face fills with understanding, but he simply continues to stare. “What do you mean by ‘I fight, no danger’, Midoriya?” 

Midoriya’s eyes squeeze shut for a moment, and Hitoshi resists the urge to press further. When Hitoshi is finally able to meet his gaze again, there’s no life in it. Just dull, dead eyes. When he speaks, his voice is monotone. “What do you think it means?” 

Hitoshi’s jaw snaps closed with an audible click. “That’s not- that’s not what I…” Hitoshi’s voice trails off, and the memory of Midoriya’s wild, unseeing eyes from just a few minutes previous flash across his mind. He shakes his head gently, clearing the image, and squeezes his fingers into fists at his sides. “You can’t just say that. You’re barely even telling us anything.” 

“Excuse me? I told you plenty. Not much else even happened,” Midoriya retorts as his eyes narrow. 

“Not much else? Not much-” Hitoshi turns away, scrubbing his palm over his mouth before turning back and pointing an accusatory finger at Midoriya. “Look at yourself! You’re - you’ve basically been mutilated! You call that ‘not much else’?”

Midoriya throws his arms up, barely hiding his wince at the movement, further proving Hitoshi’s point. “What do you expect me to say?” he cries. 

“I don’t know, just- more! You can’t seriously think I’m so dumb that I’d think that’s all there was to it.” He knows that he sounds accusatory, but he can’t suppress his rising frustration. 

“I don’t think you’re dumb -” Midoriya lets out a brief shout of anger, cutting himself off. Hitoshi doesn’t let him drop the subject, he can see it in Midoriya’s face that he will. 

“Oh really? Because it sure seems-” 

“So am I dumb too, then?” Midoriya glares at Hitoshi, breaths rushing in and out through clenched teeth. 

Hitoshi pauses, caught off guard. “What are you talking about?” 

“The kennel! You think I didn’t notice you were leaving a hell of a lot out? What happened to you, huh? Let’s talk about that!” 

Hitoshi seethes, barely restraining himself from throwing his fists into the wall. “That’s not important right now, this is!” 

“Don’t pull that with me! You’re acting like you’re oh, so open about everything that happens in here, but you’re not. You don’t share every little thing that happens to you, and you don’t need to. Just like I don’t need to!” 

“You wanna know so bad?” Hitoshi laughs hysterically. “I was tortured!”

Midoriya flinches as if he were slapped. “What?” he whispers, his voice shaky and quiet. 

“Yeah, the entire time you were here living it up with your little alien buddies, I wasn’t allowed to sleep, to move, to breathe too loudly!” 

Midoriya exhales softly. “Shinso, I didn’t mean-” 

“Well now you know. That’s what you wanted, isn’t it?” Midoriya is staring at him now, arms hanging limply at his sides and eyes sad. “Don’t fucking look at me like that! This is what you asked for! You got knocked out, so you didn’t even see the little ass ship they probably swept you away onto. Well I did. I did because they shoved me into that cage there and left me to rot.” 

“I-”

“Don’t. Don’t you dare apologize right now. You got your answers, now give me mine.”

“I wasn’t going to apologize.” Midoriya is still tense, but he sounds more tired than he did a moment ago. Less angry. “You don’t get to know more than what I feel comfortable sharing. That goes both ways. I wasn’t trying to get you to tell me anything, I was just trying to make my point.” Midoriya chews on his lip for a moment before continuing. “I just have a question. Which you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to. Just like how I don’t have to answer any of your questions if I don’t want to.” He straightens up. It’s a display of confidence, but he just looks exhausted. “Okay? Deal?”

“Deal.” Hitoshi takes a deep breath, forcefully relaxing his shoulders. “What do you want to know?”

“How exactly were you taken?”

Hitoshi sighs deeply, rolling his neck to ease some of the tension. “It was after you were already gone,” he begins. “The instructors told you to fight, but not me. They promised they were on their way. I guess they really thought they could make it. They told me not to fight; not to unnecessarily endanger myself. So I didn’t. I stayed in the main viewing area while I waited, and I saw them approach. It was this little ship that latched onto mine.” Hitoshi’s head falls forward as his eyes land on the ground. “And then… they boarded. Shouted something at me. Something I didn’t understand, obviously. Took me to their ship, and put me in the kennel. Nothing changed after that until I was brought here.”

“I…” For a moment, Hitoshi thinks that he is going to be offered some form of sympathy. But that is not what he needs right now. And Midoriya seems to know that. “I think I know why our situations were so different.” He speaks matter-of-factly, and Hitoshi relishes in the absence of emotion right now. He has been flayed raw inside, so the near-scientific way Midoriya changes the subject is a relief.

“And that would be…?” Hitoshi trails off, waiting for Midoriya to fill in the blanks. Midoriya takes a step, then another, and another, until he is pacing up and down the length of the cell slowly and methodically. 

“It’s a working theory, so stay with me.” He takes a deep breath. Nods to himself. Begins. “The ship that took you was small, but they came after I was already gone, right?”

“Pretty much.”

“Well, I think it’s obvious that they had to transport us both from the small ship to this big one. What if this big ship took off before the authorities could reach them? That would mean the smaller ship would have to wait to meet back up with the big ship in order to transport you from there to here. 

“So it took two days for them to transport me because they weren’t on this ship. Makes sense, but why is that important?”

“It’s important, ” Midoriya stresses, looking just a bit manic as he turns to look at Hitoshi. “Because if we can somehow get out of this cell, we can have the aliens fly one of the smaller ships to freedom.” 

“And we wouldn’t have to take over the entire ship to do it.” 

“Exactly.” Midoriya offers him a relieved smile. Hitoshi returns it without hesitation. He knows how unlikely a plan like this is to actually work. He knows how much there would be to work out in between. He knows that it would take skills that, even between the two of them, they lack. But he isn’t smiling because of that. He is smiling because he knows that he and Midoriya will be okay. 

So long as they can stick together and avoid killing each other along the way. 

---------------------

The universe is not a confusing place. Not when a person can accept what is presented to them. It only becomes rather confusing once emotions and denial come into play. If someone wants to understand the world around them, they must be willing to see the universe as it is. They must be willing to accept the facts. This is a mindset that Sho’o has always done all that he can to maintain. 

Most facts are quite straightforward. Most facts are things that he has known since he was a child. On Iresiaht, the surface is cold. Frozen over. Below the surface is hot. Molten in places. The sunset is vibrant. Iresiaht looks blue from space. Some people don’t know about Vu’merr, since the Sa’terr have always represented their planet, despite there being two sentient races. Some facts can prove to be more challenging to unravel. Terrans are not bloodthirsty, mindless monsters. Sho’o and his classmates were kidnapped to participate in an illegal fighting ring. Sho’o was born for the sole purpose of uniting Iresiaht’s two races. Sho’o’s father is abusive. Sho’o’s brother hates him. 

Although it may have taken him longer to unearth these facts, he knows them to be true, and he does not attempt to convince himself that they are anything but. He finds such a quest to be pointless and counterproductive. No matter how he perceives the events that occur around him, they will remain the same, so he may as well see them exactly as they are. 

When his mother’s love for him began to fade, he knew what was happening. He was young, yes, but that is when he learned that refusing to accept the truth would only result in pain. Quite literally. He could see it in her eyes. He always could. Sho’o has never been the most talented at reading others, given that he did not spend much of his childhood around his people, but the eyes are his cheat sheet. As his mother began her decline, he could see it all in her gaze, as dull as it had always been. She was tired, burnt out, and angry, yes. But most of all, she was crazed. Desperate. She craved all that she could not have. 

So, in the previous rotation, as Sho’o stared into Mi’oria’s eyes during their outburst, he saw his mother. For just a moment, as he stared at the back of Sin’so’s head, he saw himself. It is true that he does not often understand people or their behaviors and actions. But he is more than capable of understanding moments like those. 

Sho’o exhales softly as he tilts his head back, leaning it against the metal wall behind him. 

The only sound in the room is the rhythmic, maddening sound of Mi’oria pacing their cell. With Sin’so being taken away right after the morning meal, Mi’oria is almost as bad as Sin’so in their worry. From what little he can understand of their interactions with each other, they must not have known each other for long before their abduction. Not that it shows; they have latched on to each other so tightly, Sho’o is almost afraid that if one dies the other will be quick to follow. 

It is not unheard of for more pack oriented species to pass on if their favored ones pass first. He’s learned in his studies that Charian Deathworlders like Bak’go form a bond that roughly translates to ‘Battle Brethren’, in which the members fight side by side for their entire lives. In rare cases, when one passes, other members of the bond lose the will to care for themselves and therefore perish soon after. 

Sho’o glances back at Mi’oria, through the bars just to his left. They are currently attempting to eat their own finger, which does not bode well for their future. Perhaps Terrans eat when stressed? He will consider saving a portion of meat for next time so that they do not eat their arm off. Hopefully, it will assist with their ability to cope with their stress enough that it will also prevent that incessant tap, tap, tapping of their feet, too. 

Sho’o suppresses another sigh before turning his attention to his classmates. All of them - excluding Bak’go, of course - have gathered in the center of the space. He attempted to pass the time by listening to them, at first, but a conversation that centers around lessons was unable to hold his attention for long. Especially considering that they have had the same conversations over and over for countless rotations. It has since become white noise. 

“What do you think a plant from Terra would taste like?” 

“Probably death and decay.” 

Clearly, the topic has not improved. He will go mad in this cell. He is sure of it. It is better than his family’s residence on Iresiaht, though, so there is that. 

Sho’o glances at his teachers, hoping for some form of distraction. Last he saw, Az’awa-sensei seemed to have decided that he could do nothing more to assist with the current situation, and promptly fell asleep, leaving Ya’ada-sensei to keep watch. Rather disappointingly, neither appear to have moved since. He has been trapped with the same people for an entire moon revolution, and he is sure that once they manage to escape, he will never want to see them again. Well, that may be a slight exaggeration. He still needs to interact with his teachers in order to progress in his studies, after all. 

Sho’o quietly entertains himself by repeatedly coating the claws on his right fingers in frost and allowing them to melt. He is startled out of his thoughts when Mi’oria sits down on the other side of the bars, close enough that Sho’o can feel the heat from their skin. The proximity doesn’t bother Sho’o as much as he might have thought it would. He looks over his shoulder at Mi’oria, who tilts their head slightly. “You…” Mi’oria says, wiggling their fingers before pointing down at Sho’o’s fingers. It only takes a moment to decipher what Mi’oria wants to ask. 

“Yes,” he responds, bobbing his head in the awkward way he’s seen Mi’oria and Sin’so do while conversing. 

Mi’oria head bobs back at him, and they sit in comfortable silence together. At least with Mi’oria’s idle focus on Sho’o’s frost, they are no longer trying to eat their fingers. After a few rounds of freezing and melting, Mi’oria begins shifting, their movements unnecessarily loud when directly to Sho’o’s left. Sho’o reluctantly turns his gaze to Mi’oria, already mourning the loss of the comfortable silence they found themselves in. “Yes, Mi’oria?” he prods quietly. 

“You…” Mi’oria starts, their face scrunching up. Sho’o waits patiently. He does not have another place to be, sadly. “You…peace…me? You peace me.”

Sho’o rolls the stunted sentence around his brain, doing what he can to parse out what Mi’oria means. With such an extreme language barrier standing tall between the two of them, Sho’o can’t begin to understand Mi’oria’s intentions. He is not like Az’awa-sensei or Kam’nari. Jumping over this wall that separates himself from the Terrans is not exactly Sho’o’s forte. Sho’o briefly considers asking Kam’nari what he believes the meaning of Mi’oria’s words to be, but that would draw unnecessary attention towards himself. He does not consider himself to be an ‘interaction-allergic sentient rock’, as Bak’go has so commonly referred to him as in the past. He simply enjoys being ignored. 

Sho’o supposes he could make an attempt, at the very least, before calling for reinforcements. “I…peace you,” Sho’o echoes back. Mi’oria nods quickly, offering Sho’o a tight lipped smile. He is still very, very confused. Sho’o decides to risk a glance at Mi’oria’s eyes. His habit of relying on reading a person through their gaze tends to go rather negatively. Most species, bar his own, do not appreciate heavy eye contact, as it is frequently interpreted as a threat. However, he deems the risk worth trying, especially considering that Mi’oria has neglected to display any aversion to eye contact in previous interactions.  

If Sho’o is being honest, it doesn’t help much. 

He and Mi’oria have not exactly interacted much in the past, excluding the few occasions in which Kam’nari drags him into acting out specific words. The elerack has demonstrated himself to be partial to involving Ur’aka, the teachers, and even Iida - at times - before resorting to Sho’o. The only meaningful interaction he has had with Mi’oria directly was during their breakdown. Mi’oria may intend the action of causing someone to be at peace, but what would that have to do with anything? 

Sho’o steals another brief glance at Mi’oria’s eyes, noting the swirling mix of sadness and hope in them. Could they be trying to thank him for stepping in to defend Sin’so? It is the only logical conclusion; why else would Mi’oria go out of their way to communicate with Sho’o, a person who has made little to no effort to interact with them? It would almost be more sensible for them to converse with Bak’go. Though, in such a scenario, the conversation would be more of an argument. 

“I stop you,” Sho’o offers. 

Relief seems to fill Mi’oria’s features, and they relax with a soft, “Yes.” 

“You grateful.” Mi’oria’s only response to Sho’o is another slight tilting of their head as their face fur lowers over their eyes in a vaguely aggressive manner. He makes a conscious effort not to respond in kind. Based upon his observations, the vast majority of the ‘aggressive’ behaviors displayed by the Terrans have been quite innocent in comparison to how Mi’oria and Sin’so treat the guards. Sho’o would also like to avoid making an enemy of the Terrans. “I peace you,” Sho’o repeats, receiving another head bob in return. “You grateful.” He makes sure to enunciate the latter word in order to prompt Mi’oria into saying it back. 

Slowly, in a whispered tone, Mi’oria attempts to copy Sho’o’s pronunciation. It does not seem to matter how many times Sho’o hears the Terran mimic Common words; the process will likely always come across as mildly eerie. Once Mi’oria seems to find the rhythm of the word, they smile brightly, their lips still pressed together. “I grateful you stop me.”

Sho’o bobs his head. “You’re welcome.” 

Mi’oria does not seem to need an explanation of the phrase used to express gratitude. Instead, they repeat the process of mimicking Sho’o in order to learn. It only takes a moment for Mi’oria to say the phrase correctly, and the pair quickly descend into the same comfortable silence that they were cloaked in previously. 

Just as Sho’o is considering going back to spreading frost over his fingers and letting them melt, Mi’oria breaches the quiet for the last time. “I grateful… you I talk.” 

Sho’o blinks as he looks to his left, surprised. When he meets Mi’oria’s eyes, he finds himself staring for several moments. He can not say that the sentiment is one he hears often. When he finally responds, it is soft and hesitant. “Yes, I grateful.”

Seemingly satisfied, Mi’oria bobs their head at him and stands, crossing their cell to resume their pacing. Sho’o watches them go, tracking them for several ticks, before slowly turning away. As Sho’o’s eyes begin to drift back down to his fingers, his gaze catches on Ya’ada-sensei, who’s pale yellow eyes are fixed on him. Ya’ada-sensei stretches his neck out, shaking out the feathers around his head with his eyes closed. 

Sho’o’s breath freezes in his lungs, and he snaps his eyes down to his lap. The action is one that he has seen before, though not often directed at him. As a teacher, he supposes that it is Ya’ada-sensei’s job to ensure that his students are aware when they have done something correctly. Sho’o was simply oblivious of his audience. Especially one that would be willing to display such blatant pride. 

Chapter Text

The Terrans have refused to let go of each other since Sin’so returned. When they were thrown back into the cell, Sin’so sported new scrapes on their hands, and Sho’o deems it safe to assume that they faced another fight. The two have been clinging onto each other and whispering frantically in their guttural language for many clicks now. It is almost fascinating for Sho’o to watch them interact, so different from what he grew up with. 

He imagines that his siblings may have acted in a similar manner around each other, but he was never granted enough of an opportunity to interact with them to find out. He was the ‘ideal’ child, the perfect mixing of the two races, so he was subjected to more expectations and demands in comparison to his siblings. Part of him wonders if the particular circumstances in which he was raised stunted him rather than supported him. It seems wrong to think such a thing. Sho’o grew up in a wealthy household, offered more in life than many of his classmates could ever hope to own. 

Perhaps if his father had been a bit more-

“Students, gather around, we need to speak to you.” Sho’o’s thoughts are interrupted by Ya’ada-sensei calling for their attention, drawing his eyes away from the Terrans at last. Sho’o reluctantly gives up his place in the corner, moving to join the rest of the group closer to the center of the cell. He sits down silently in the back. Bak’go plops down on his left with a muted growl, appearing irritated by the interruption of… whatever Bak’go was doing a moment ago. Then again, Bak’go always looks irritated, so who can really tell what is going on with him. 

“What’s going on, sensei?” Ur’aka asks, her tail sweeping anxiously across the floor behind her. 

“If it’s not about blasting our way out of this hell hole, I don’t fucking care,” Bak’go snarls, baring his teeth just slightly enough that he will not get reprimanded for it.

“Yeah, of course. Because if you don’t care, none of us should, either, right?” Ur’aka interjects, leveling Bak’go with an unimpressed stare. 

“Obviously, you-” Bak’go cuts himself off, eyes narrowing at Ur’aka. “Oi, fuck you, you little-” 

“Be quiet!” Az’awa-sensei interrupts, lifting his head from where it was resting on his paws. He glares at Bak’go first before turning to direct his gaze toward Ur’aka. “I’m talking to both of you,” he adds angrily. 

Bak’go backs down with a furious huff. Ur’aka only stares smugly. Sho’o feels the sudden, strange urge to congratulate her, but he resists. Barely. 

Ya’ada-sensei makes a short rumbling sound in the back of his throat, not quite a growl, but close enough it catches everyone’s attention. “Based on…” Ya’ada-sensei glances at the other cell, where the Terrans are still speaking quietly to each other. They seem to be paying no attention to his teachers or classmates. “...the people that they have been taking to fight, we believe that we’re at a placement arena right now.”

“Which are stationary. They don’t move around, unlike the actual tournament arenas,” Az’awa-sensei adds, relaxing his tensed muscles and laying his head back down on his paws. His tails twist lazily through the air, slow and hypnotic. “They are used to test the competitors’ strength and skill.” 

“Why haven’t we all been taken, then?” Kam’nari’s voice is soft and unsure as he bounces in place. 

“Well,” Iida bursts in. One of his two arms cuts sharply through the air as he says, “There is, of course, still time to-” 

“Iida,” Sho’o interrupts. He forces his voice to remain neutral and quiet, as to avoid drawing the Terran’s attention. Mi’oria, especially, is quite intuned with their tones of voices. His teachers have made it clear that this is not a discussion for the Terrans at the moment, although Sho’o can not imagine why. He glances at Kam’nari, whose frown has deepened at Iida’s words. 

“Ah, I only meant…” Iida trails off, finally seeming to process what he said. 

“What Iida meant to say,” Ya’ada-sensei cuts in with a reassuring chirp in the back of his throat, “is that while it is possible that some of us may still need to be placed, most of us likely will not be.” 

Ya’ada-sensei seems content to leave it at that, but Az’awa-sensei shoots him a disapproving look, his tails swiping sharply down to show his irritation, before adding, “But we can’t be sure either way. What we do know is that if they are confident that they have an idea of what a person’s skill level is, they won’t place them. You’ll also be left alone if they don’t plan for you to fight at all.” 

“But why would they keep those people around?” Sho’o finds himself questioning, tilting his head in a manner similar to that which he has seen from Mi’oria and Sin’so. “Why not just kill them?” 

Az’awa hesitates for just a moment. He inhales. His tail flicks side to side behind him. He exhales. “It is likely to prevent the rest of us from rebelling. Or,” his eyes slide over to Bak’go. Sho’o’s classmates follow his gaze, and Bak’go bristles under the unwarranted attention. Before he can speak, however, Az’awa-sensei continues. “To prevent any of us from having a particularly drastic reaction to the loss.” 

Of course, Sho’o thinks. The realization seems to dawn on Bak’go just as it crosses Sho’o’s mind. They could be worried that a likely strong fighter will go catatonic if they were to kill one of us. He doesn’t think that Bak’go has known any of them for long enough to form that sort of bond, but part of him wonders if, in an environment that is as distressing as this, it has happened before. 

“The fuck are you trying to imply?” Bak’go snaps, voice rising. Sho’o glances at the Terrans, but they still do not seem to be paying attention. The frantic whispering has subsided, at least, so it seems that they are beginning to calm themselves down. If anyone would have a drastic reaction to loss in the cells, Sho’o is betting on the Terrans. Specifically Sin’so, for that matter.

“It doesn’t matter,” Ya’ada-sensei says, feathers shifting as he tries to defuse the growing tension. “What matters is that our best chance for rescue will be during these placement fights. If help comes for us, no matter who’s in the ring and who’s not, we all need to be prepared to fight,” he finishes, nodding meaningfully at each of them in turn. 

Az’awa, easily swinging back around to the main topic, adds, “We have no way of knowing if or when help will come, so it’s best to not lose focus in the meantime.” 

“Should we not at least come up with a backup plan? There is still a high possibility that help will not come for us, is that not correct? What if we are on our own? I highly suggest we prepare ourselves!” One of Iida’s arms swipes sharply through the air, gaining in speed as Iida works himself into a bit of a fit. 

“Of course they’ll come for us!” Ur’aka pipes up. “Right, Az’awa-sensei? Everything is going to be just fine!” Ur’aka’s voice is undercut by a strained, desperate sort of hope that ignites a strange feeling in Sho’o’s chest. A part of him desires to offer some form of comfort, though he suppresses the urge quickly. Even if he did not highly doubt that such actions would be welcomed, his idea of comforting a person is likely very opposed to what most people would appreciate. 

Instead, Sho’o watches as Az’awa-sensei’s tails freeze in the air, just briefly enough that it would be difficult to catch if Sho’o hadn’t been watching. He has learned over the course of their imprisonment that while Az’awa-sensei’s tone or face will not give away any emotion, his tails will, no matter how hard Az’awa-sensei attempts to stop them.

“You are not telling us something,” Sho’o states matter-of-factly, watching Az’awa’s tails closely for any misleading words.

Az’awa-sensei’s tails still and settle on the ground, a huff of air escaping his mouth. The cell is drowned in silence for several ticks before Az’awa-sensei reluctantly responds. “As I mentioned, placement arenas are immobile, fixed. Because of that, the PAC Core have been able to gather some intel about where they are.” Az’awa-sensei pauses again, and Sho’o can feel the atmosphere in the cell grow apprehensive. Whatever the news is, it can not be good, and his classmates are well aware. “Tournament arenas are different,” Sho’o’s teacher finally adds. “The commanders want a varying playing field. They don’t want one group to have a prolonged advantage over the others just because of the environment.” 

“Oh,” Kam’nari mumbles bluntly, and Sho’o knows that the other has figured it out. Has arrived at the conclusion before Az’awa-sensei could say it. “So this is our only chance, then.” 

“Kam’nari?” Ur’aka prompts nervously. Her voice is soft and - he realizes with a jolt - afraid. Truly afraid. She must already know, then. She simply does not want it to be true. “What does that mean?” Sho’o does not think that he has ever heard her show true fear before. He has seen her afraid, of course, but this kind of fear is different. It is raw, cutting deep into the bone, encapsulating her very being. It is not fear, this is terror. Pure, unadulterated terror.

Ur’aka, so far, has been the most optimistic of the group. She has done her best to point out the bright side of the unfortunate situation that they have found themselves in, attempting to keep the peace when Bak’go gets riled up. Kam’nari has kept the atmosphere lighthearted, even fun. Together, the two of them have helped time fly, and managed to keep them all from killing each other. What happens when lighthearted loses its optimism? When a future drowning in darkness lies just beyond the horizon, staring at them with hungry eyes, beckoning them toward it? 

“It means,” Bak’go begins quietly - which is a first, and would be amusing if not for the reasoning behind it. His tone is somber and serious, ringing quietly and incredibly unnaturally through the cell. “That if help doesn’t come for us in the placements, like four eyes said, we’re on our fucking own.” 

The conversation grinds to a halt after the chilling realization of the position that they are in. His teachers, he is sure, do not want to confirm what Bak’go said, though their reluctance is rather telling. After many clicks of listening absentmindedly to the Terrans’ chatter, he migrates back to the corner of the cell. Still, no one speaks, so he lays his head back against the wall behind him and closes his eyes. He does not think that anyone is in the mood for casual conversation at the moment. Not that he would have participated if they were. 

The reveal is… less shocking than Sho’o would have imagined. He wonders if a part of him already resigned to their fate. He has always tried to expect disappointment, so perhaps, this time, it proved to be useful. Rescue was never guaranteed; he knew that. His classmates and teachers have been clutching at the strings that trail behind gradually retreating hope. Sho’o has never been so naive. 

Well, there is one brightside to all of this. His father will be forced to come to terms with the fact that his perfect ‘masterpiece’ died fighting for pirates. He only wishes that he could be there to see the look on his face when they break the news. Because he is more than positive he’ll be in the ring at some point, if not because he’s a prince, then because of his unique appearance. In fact, Sho’o is not entirely sure that they know which species he is. His father has been quite secretive of his ‘masterpiece’, after all, and Sho’o usually forgoes his royal accouterments when he is among his classmates. 

Which is precisely why, when the guards appear at the cells outside of a meal time, intending to retrieve him, he is unsurprised.

The journey to the arena is rather uneventful, though tense and uncomfortable. Being trapped in a mobile cage with an armed guard is not conducive to a pleasant atmosphere. As usual, the thought of using his frost against the guards flashed briefly through his mind, but he tossed it aside just as fast as it appeared. He is outnumbered and the handcuffs limit his mobility. He, realistically, stands no chance. For another matter, he has no way of reaching the rest of his allies, so his escape would be a waste. 

As the guards, armed with spears, close in on him, however, he finds himself questioning his decision. Perhaps, were he to come close to escape, they would have concluded that it was too risky to bring him to the arena. Though the thought forces him to feel a drop of regret, he dismisses the unproductive desire. He can do nothing but enter the arena now. Literally. He can go nowhere except back, away from the sharp blades of the spear tips, and through the doors. So he does just that. 

The arena is large, and there are numerous rows of spectators stomping their feet and shrieking their glee. Sho’o swallows. A small, traitorous part of him cowers at the true danger that lies in his near future. He ignores that part; he casts it aside, and falls back on the training that he once swore to denounce. He can not afford such a luxury. Sho’o takes note of the boulders and water disrupting the arena floor. They all serve as possible areas of advantage and disadvantage to himself and his opponent, whoever or whatever they might be. 

The humidity in the air will likely weaken his frost, and, unfortunately, he does not know how to swim in deep waters. His planet is one of fire and ice and the few points of contact that allow for ice to melt and water to gather do not have the terrain necessary to hold a large or deep amount. Not that his father ever allowed him the opportunity to test out those shallow pools, demanding that he spend his time training harder instead. His experience with large bodies of water is entirely intellectual. 

The streams will, likely, only act as a disadvantage to him. Abruptly, the crowd roars with renewed vigor, and Sho’o’s eyes catch on the doors on the other side of the arena as they swing open. The creature that emerges is unfamiliar, though he expected as much. He does not know much about the organisms on planets that are not his own, excluding the sentient species. The creature rolls out - literally rolls, as if it were a giant round rock - slowly. When it has fully cleared the doors, they swing closed, and two appendages unravel themselves from where they were secured tightly against either side of the creature’s body. 

They land with an echoing thump against the rocky ground when the creature plants them, clawed appendages like fingers on a hand splaying out to assist it in balancing. Then, it lifts its large body off of the ground. It stands tall; Sho’o is sure that if he were closer, the creature would tower over him. He scans it rapidly, attempting to find any weaknesses or faults in the rocky armor covering its body. He is, for the most part, unsuccessful. The creature’s defining features, if they even exist, are hidden from his eyes. The only part of its body that appears to differ from the rest is a smoother patch of what appears to be skin on the bottom; what he assumes to be the stomach. 

A tremble runs down Sho’o’s spine as the creature’s claws drag against the ground with a scriiiiiiitch, and he clenches his fists in an effort to stave off the growing fear. This is not the time to be afraid, let alone the time to display it. He needs a plan of action. Soon enough, the creature will surely spot him and become aggressive. The arena coordinators would not pit him against something that is unwilling to attack first. He cannot afford to waste time on an emotion as disgraceful and pointless as fear.  

Well, at the very least, he doubts that this creature is capable of holding a candle to his father’s inferno. 

Sho’o’s first step forward is cautious and slow, and he breathes deeply before darting to the nearest boulder. He can climb it; get to the high ground and strike if the creature comes too close. He knows nothing of this creature, but its figure indicates that it is incapable of reaching its own back. It is bulky and possesses heavy armor, which does not leave much room for flexibility. 

His rapid, sudden movements grab the creature’s attention. It lets out a deep, gravely roar - from a mouth that Sho’o can not see - as it throws itself forward. In the air, its appendages tuck back into their places around its body, allowing it to begin to roll the moment it lands. The creature plows through one of the smaller streams separating them and barrels straight towards him. If he were to hazard a guess, he would say that it plans to demolish the boulder that he stands on in its entirety. When that happens, he does not intend to be standing at its peak any longer. 

As the creature nears his location, he crouches down. He holds his hands loosely away from his body, flexing his fingers. His window will be miniscule, but he is capable of executing his strategy. He is sure of it. Just before the creature crashes headlong into Sho’o’s temporary perch, he jumps, springing up and forward. The creature has no time to react; no time to stop him. In the air, Sho’o pulls his knees up to his chest and extends an arm down, below his body. 

The fingers on his cold side only just manage to make contact with the shell of the creature, and, in the moment that he is granted, he pours as much energy into his frost as possible. A decent coat of ice spreads along the back of the creature as Sho’o’s fingers slide away. He turns his focus back to the ground, now intent on preventing injury. He extends his legs, allowing his feet to hit first before tucking his body down into a roll. 

The ground shakes beneath his feet, and he stumbles out of his tuck. He is barely able to catch himself before he falls on his face, though he feels a small section of the fabric of his pants give way to form a small rip. The deafening swell of the roaring of the crowd nearly drowns out the sound of the creature plowing through the boulder that follows immediately after he lands. Sho’o pushes himself back to his feet as quickly as he is able before spinning around to assess the situation. 

The creature has already lifted itself back off the ground using its appendages, and it is slowly turning back around to face him. He wants to mark that as a weakness - its inability to change direction quickly given its bulky build - but he can not. The creature is too large for him to be able to dodge to the side. Even if he could… Sho’o’s scans the creature, searching for any sign of the thin layer of ice that he managed to create. The only indication that his fingers ever touched it, however, are tiny shards of ice left behind in the creature’s wake. His attempted attack must have been shattered in the impact, clearly not sufficient enough to incapacitate the creature for any length of time. 

Sho’o’s eyes slide to his right to judge the distance from himself to the next nearest boulder. He knows now that ice on the creature’s hard, outer shell will not harm it. He glances back at the smoother patch of skin, the only area that appears to differ from the rest. So I need a new plan. A low rumbling sound draws his attention back to the creature, which is now facing him - or, at least, it seems to be. But right now, I need to buy time. Sho’o’s muscles slowly tense, and he bends his legs to prepare himself. Then, when the creature does not immediately charge again, he springs. 

Sho’o dashes toward the other boulder, doing his best to ignore the vibrations that travel from his feet up through his body. He does all that he can to push himself faster as the creature steadily closes in. He doesn’t dare to look behind him; the feeling of the creatures’ presence looming over him with every strike of his feet against the ground is reminder enough.

He slides to a stop when the boulder comes within arms’ reach, his breaths burning his lungs. The creature doesn’t fall for his trick, planting its appendages and coming out of its roll abruptly enough that the ground lurches from the force. Sho’o does not allow the creature the luxury of gathering its bearings, immediately sprinting forward and sliding underneath it. He ignores the sharp stinging as his back drags against the ground, persevering through the pain just as he was taught. He drags his right hand across the creature’s belly as he goes, in the hopes that targeting the weak spot will, at the very least, slow the creature down. 

This time, without the creature unintentionally putting distance between the two, Sho’o runs several paces away after getting to his feet. He turns once he deems himself a safe enough distance away. Oddly enough, however, the creature has yet to do much more than begin to turn. The speed at which it is able to shift its body to face him is slower than the previous time, and Sho’o allows himself to feel a drop of triumph. He straightens up slightly, allowing himself a moment to breathe and continuing to observe the effects of his ice on the creature. 

It seems almost stunned, and its claws drag slightly against the ground as it takes the last step it needs to face him fully. But then - then, Sho’o realizes his mistake. Honestly, he should be better than this. He is better than this. His father’s countless lessons taught him to be better than what he is exhibiting now. “Never let your guard down, Sho’o,” he always said. Maybe he should have been listening. I was, he wants to say. I was listening. But it was not enough. 

The creature throws itself forward. At first, it only seems to tip, still moving sluggishly. Then, the moment it hits the ground, the ice shatters. All at once, Sho’o’s attack slips from its skin, and not a scratch is left behind. Well, shit. On the bright side, Bak’go would be proud of his profanity. On the down side, he likely will not live long enough for Bak’go to ever find out. Sho’o nearly trips due to the speed at which he turns around. With the ice gone, the creature is back to its normal speed, and Sho’o is screwed. 

He dashes, nearly frantically, toward the only remaining boulder in the arena. Maybe if he can just make it there, he can somehow take cover, or hide, or dodge, or- or something. He just needs to get there, he just needs to stay alive; if he can only figure out what to do, he’ll be fine. He will. He will. But there is a rattling thunk behind him. Right behind him. So, so close. And all he can do is lunge to the side, hoping to avoid whatever is about to happen, and only barely quickly enough to avoid the clawed appendage that flies past his shoulder. 

Only, he doesn’t. He isn’t fast enough, and he can feel its claws scrape into - no, through - his skin. He can feel the scales snap where the claw rips through them, and the only reason that he does not scream is because all he can think about is his father and his lessons and his voice reminding Sho’o of all the things he shouldn’t do. 

At that moment, some part of his brain freezes. Freezes because of how close he just came to death. Freezes because he can not comprehend what is happening quickly enough to keep up with the slam of his back against the ground. The image of the creature standing over him, a giant shadow enveloping his entire body. It is so big. So, so big that he is sure that it could simply wrap its appendages back up and crush him. It would be so easy; his life means nothing to it. Absolutely nothing. 

Then, as Sho’o lies stiffly on the ground, tongue swelling with terror and blood pooling under him, the creature’s skin begins to shift. The thick, hardened plates on the creature’s body that are closest to him slide back grotesquely in a vague imitation of a Firierodu. It opens its mouth, displaying two rows of long, sharp teeth that will surely slice through Sho’o scales like water. 

It’s an action born more of instinct than an actual plan when Sho’o reaches for the warmth in his chest. He cradles the familiar sensation gently as if it is the last thing that he will ever hold before he pulls. Up, up, up it goes until it reaches his throat, then his tongue, then the air. Until there is a blaze of fire shooting directly into the gaping maw of the giant creature. The creature immediately rears back, releasing a horrible screech that causes Sho’o’s ears to ring. It stumbles, and in a brief moment of clarity, Sho’o scrambles out from underneath the beast before it crashes to the ground. 

The world goes silent. The audience does not move. The air feels as though it stills around him; even the wind has died. The audience does not make a sound. The sun beats down mercilessly, and his shoulder throbs. The audience does nothing but stare. So Sho’o does the same. He stares at the body of the creature that so nearly cut his life short. He can still feel his soul slipping away, leaking through his cupped fingers that grasp desperately for it as it fades. There is no true indication that the creature is dead beyond its limp body. It does not breathe, but it did not appear to before. It does not look scorched, but its body is a shell that would not burn. Sho’o slightly wishes to burn it once more. From the inside out. Until there is nothing left. 

A murmur begins to creep through the crowd. It is slow at first, and then it sweeps across the arena, an onslaught of sound slowly growing in volume. People lean close to their neighbors, whispering and pointing, and Sho’o shrinks in on himself. His father has kept him from the public eye for a large majority of his life. Now that there is nothing else to focus on, the attention is crushing. 

There is a harsh bang, and Sho’o shifts, wincing as a fresh wave of pain radiates from his shoulder. There are guards marching toward him, having entered through the door they originally pushed him through. He wants to run, but he has nowhere to go. Nowhere to hide. Not to mention that a wound this deep will take time to clot. Too much time. He needs medical attention. So, when the guards arrive, he does not fight them. They are not gentle in the way that they hoist him from the ground, but they do not touch his injured arm. He despises the fact that he feels grateful. 

When they cross back through the doors, the guards shut them before positioning him dead center in the room. Abruptly, a stream of harsh water is turned on, blasting straight towards him. He flinches, stumbling away from it, but a barked order to stay still reminds him of where he is. When the stream nears his arm, he inhales sharply in preparation for the pain, but it is shut off just before making contact with the raw skin and surrounding scales. 

It is the first time he’s actually looked at the wound. Three long gashes cut deep, splitting his skin open and allowing blood to trail down his arm and sides. The scales around the marks are in various stages of disrepair; some broken, some bent, some ripped clean out. There are pinpricks of blood in spots where scales are missing, and he can see a few where the root of the scales remain. That… will not be pleasant to remove. 

He is then pushed over to a small chair in the corner, where a healer stands. He is allowing them to inspect his shoulder - not that he has much of a choice - when familiar voices drift to his ears. 

“How did this happen?” The speaker is seething, and their impatience seeps into their voice. Sho’o discreetly turns his head to spot them. There are two of the guards from the ship standing a few hi’fu away, though still close enough for him to catch their raised voices. They are among the group that brought him here; they must be waiting to transport him back. 

“I don’t know!” the elerack responds angrily. “I’m not the one who decides who to take.” 

“Well how didn’t you put it together?” The firierodu’s voice is tense, and his following words drip with sarcasm. “It’s not like you’ve spent the most time around them all or anything.” 

The elerack growls, and an arc of electricity travels from one antenna to the other. “You can’t put this on me; you didn’t know either. It’s not like King To’roki ever shows his son to the public.” 

Of course, Sho’o realizes. They didn’t know who I was. 

“Yeah, well, now it’s too late,” the firierodu says, their two lower arms folding stiffly together. “He’s already been in the arena.” 

“Then we’ll never let him go in again!” The elerack hisses. “Fuck, maybe we’ll just leave him here.” Sho’o fights to prevent himself from reacting to the proposition. He can’t stay. He can’t be separated from his classmates and teachers. He doesn’t want to be… alone.  

“We can’t.” Sho’o releases the breath he was unknowingly holding. “The arena coordinators will have our heads if we leave someone that attracts that much attention with them. And besides, the others would-” the firierodu stops abruptly, and Sho’o twists himself slightly to see them. The firierodu’s eyes meet his. “We’ll talk about this later,” they mumble, tilting their head in Sho’o’s direction. Damn, Sho’o curses, I should have been more discreet.

The two guards fall silent, both of them pinning Sho’o with a deadly glare. Sho’o turns away, unphased. His father’s glares were worse, and that was when he was in a good mood. The healer finishes up quickly, sealing a bandage over his wound as a final touch. Just as Sho’o is being hauled to his feet, a loud crash! shakes the room, causing him to nearly lose his balance. 

Deafening sirens blare through the space, forcing more than just Sho’o to flinch and clutch at their ears. A monotone voice blasts between each round of alarms, “We are under attack. Please evacuate.”

Chapter Text

The room bursts into a flurry of motion.

The firierodu crosses the room and, in a flash, has Sho’o’s arm and is yanking him to his feet. They do not bother with the cuffs, though their other hand joins the first as they shove him forward. “Start the vehicle,” the firierodu calls to the elerack, who races on ahead of them. When the elerack slams into the doors, shoving them open, the harsh light of the sun spills into the room. Sho’o grits his teeth, doing his best to prepare himself for the assault on his eyes as he and the firierodu near the exit. The moment that they cross the threshold, Sho’o is blinded. Oddly, his sense of touch seems to be amplified at the moment, setting his skin on fire. He can feel, with uncomfortable intimacy, the firierodu’s claws digging mercilessly into his skin, the humidity in the stagnant air. Sharp edges of the rocks below his feet, heavy vibrations in the air, the-

Sho’o hooks his nails under one of the scales on the inside of his left forearm and pulls. Pain bursts through the haze that is beginning to take over his mind. He shoves down the hiss that is clawing its way up his throat, instead relishing in his newly cleared vision. Sho’o gently releases the scale that fell victim to his urgency and attempts to press it back into place, ignoring the thin trail of blood leaking from beneath. Eyes sharp once more, Sho’o does his best to scan his surroundings without moving his head. He does not want to alert the firierodu to his intentions. He does not have much time left; they are nearing the vehicle faster than he would like. The first place that Sho’o looks is, evidently, the correct site to lend his attention.

The clouds swirl and part to make way for ships that are beginning to breach the atmosphere. The ships are streamlined in a way that pirate ships tend not to be, sparking hope in his racing heart. He is shoved into the cage before he can manage to find some sort of emblem or logo. Sho’o was raised pragmatically; he knows better than to assume anything, especially if the assumption has no evidence to back it up. There is no guarantee that these attackers are allies. The fact that the design was familiar means little. It would be wise to hold on to a fair amount of suspicion.

“Let’s move,” the firierodu yells as they slam the cage door shut, banging on the metal separating the cage from the cabin. The vehicle takes off without delay, tossing the two of them to the side harshly. Sho’o hisses as his arm is slammed into the metal bars. A throbbing ache sets in, adding to the stinging skin under his scale, as the vehicle rights itself. The drive is unpleasant, to say the least. He and the firierodu are tossed from side to side as the driver dodges whatever blocks the vehicle’s path. Sho’o desperately clings onto the bars in an attempt to hopefully minimize injury.

The view beyond the bars race past, too fast to make out much more than blurred images. Noise bombards them from every direction. Wordless yells, unintelligible commands, the distinct sound of phasers. Things his father has made him all too familiar with. His experience prevents his environment from completely overwhelming him, and he hates that he can attribute his survival so far, in its entirety, to the man he has spent his entire life despising.

Tremors snake up through the vehicle from the ground, and Sho’o braces himself. He has a feeling he knows what will soon follow. The elerack slams hard on the brakes, but the abrupt halt seems to be the wrong decision. The world goes sideways.

Sho’o squeezes his eyes shut as both he and the firierodu do their best not to be slammed into the roof of the cage - or anywhere else, for that matter. The firierodu lets loose a series of - he is assuming to be - curses in the native firierodu language once the vehicle stops rolling. Sho’o heaves for the breath he was holding, grimacing as pain lashes across his body. He will have a lot more scales to pull than just the ones on his shoulder once he gets through this. If, he reminds himself dully. If I get through this.

The firierodu kicks at the door of the cage, which seems to have loosened from the damage. It takes a few valiant attempts before the door crumbles in on itself from one side, opening a decently sized hole in the twisted metal. Sho’o watches as the firierodu slowly drags themself out of the hole. He has no intentions of following.

The firierodu turns back to him, a rather un-intimidating snarl distorting their face. “Either get out of the cage with some dignity, or be electrocuted and dragged out by force. Your call, little prince.”

Not, it seems, that he has much choice in the matter.

Sho’o ignores the painful bruising as best he can as he crawls out of the cage. The firierodu latches onto his arm the moment he clears the distorted metal hole, and he is dragged unceremoniously into a run towards the looming pirate ship above them. Sho’o looks back in a desperate attempt to see who the attackers are. And, perhaps, hoping that it is the PAC Corps coming for him.

One of the assailants catches sight of him. Their red scales refract light across what has become a battlefield. The Vu’merr is not close enough to hear, but Sho’o watches as they, along with two more Vu’merr, break off and attempt to chase after himself and the firierodu. Rapidly, and perhaps a touch frantically, he darts his gaze all over as he intentionally slows down his captor. His eyes finally catch sight of a ship’s emblem, and he stumbles. The firierodu yanks him back up with a growl, and Sho’o… obeys. He feels as though someone has just punched him in the gut.

It is his royal family emblem.

These assailants are his father’s soldiers.

He does not know how to feel about that.

Sho’o knows, logically, that he should be glad. Grateful. Overjoyed, even. These are allies; people who have come to save him and his class from the pirates’ clutches. If they are able to reach him, to board the ship, everyone will be safe. He will not be forced to fight another battle to the death. He and the people he cares about will be safe.

Yes, he should be glad. He is glad. It is just… he has spent so many years desiring freedom from his gilded cage. Running his fingers along the miniscule cracks in the invisible walls of his family name, hoping to find a way out. An escape from his father’s cold, cold eyes and far colder fists. A Vu’merr should never be as cold as his father has always been. So he does not want to acknowledge the part of him that feels relieved. He does not want to accept that he has any urge to go back to that hell hole. He hates that anything that is associated with his father could make him rejoice. Yet, here he is, digging his heels into the ground and reaching up with his free hand to rake his nails along the firierodu’s arms.

Because despite his pain, despite his hatred, despite the respite that these past few revolutions have become, a gilded cage is easier to ignore than a septic one. And, most importantly, his classmates and teachers will be in no cage at all. He is unsure if he could live with himself, were he to throw away this chance and watch one of them die.

“Fuck!” the firierodu cries when Sho’o’s nails gouge deeply enough into their arm to leave a bloody streak. “Oh, you just wait,” they growl. Their voice is gravely and low. Plates slide out of the skin on their arm to cover it before Sho’o can do more damage. When they turn to face him, their eyes promise revenge. “When I’m done with you, little prince, they won’t be able to recognize-”

Before the firierodu can finish their threat, Sho’o rears back as a spray of red blood cascades toward his face. It takes him a moment, but when he finally wipes his scales clean and opens his eyes to look, the firierodu lies motionless on the ground, a pool of blood spreading thickly across the stones. Sho’o is frozen in place as he watches the viscous fluid flow around his feet, seeping beneath the scales and coating his skin.

Sho’o sucks in a breath, dragging himself forcefully back to the present. He turns on his heels, preparing to make a break for it. Worse comes to worse, they can come back for the others, but this is his chance. He does not want to return to his father, but his father is better than this, if only by a short margin. He manages to make two strides before, suddenly, the cuffs on his wrists and ankles all snap together harshly, sending him tumbling to the ground ungracefully. He hears a low swoosh from behind, and rolls onto his back. He knows what is coming.

The sa’terr reaches him first, and he does his best to kick his feet out at them. They jump back before quickly closing back in, but he has bought himself time. That is all he needs. Just a few more ticks, and the vu’merr can reach him. The oriri’vry arrives next, as the sa’terr is hauling him from the ground. He is squirming in the sa’terr’s grip, preventing them from getting a good grip on him, and he does not get a chance to see the oriri’vry’s coloring. He regrets it a moment later, when he feels skin brush his scales followed by the sensation of floating. The oriri’vry has made it that much easier for Sho’o to be dragged away, and now he can do little to stop it. In the air, anchored to the sa’terr by his arm, he twists himself around.

The vu’merr are close now. So close.

Close enough that, were Sho’o not bound, he might be able to reach out and touch them.

Close enough that Sho’o can see their eyes widen in horror ticks before the ship’s hatch slides shut in his face.

---------------------

His stay in the room they shoved him into was short lived. Once it seems the pirates have made their escape successfully, they come back to escort him back to the cells. Sho’o barely registers any of it. He can not bear to. He only feels numb.

He was so close to freedom, and yet they failed. His father’s soldiers failed. The words ring through his head, but they make no sense. They are an impossibility. His father has always boasted of the might and skill of their warriors; he has always claimed them to be the finest warriors in the galaxy. And yet they failed. Their mission must have been to return him to his father in one piece, and they failed.

Sho’o barely registers the movement of the cell door, nor the eyes of the terrans, his classmates, and his teachers locked on him as he calmly enters. Idly, he wonders what kind of image he must make. They cleaned off the most prominent evidence of his fight, but the firierodu’s blood still clings to his scales and his injuries are plain as day. He doubts he will ever truly cleanse the blood from his feet. It does not matter. His father’s soldiers failed.

The room descends into silence as Sho’o stands there, staring at the floor.

He can not seem to bring himself to look up, to explain to these people that their only hope for rescue is lost. “To’roki?” Sho’o flinches at the name before becoming very still. His father always taught him not to flinch away. Flinching is a display of fear, and fear is a weakness. The voice that bleeds through his ears belongs to Ya’ada-sensei. It is soft and chirping, as always. It holds no anger. No blame. That might be the worst part. “To’roki, do you want to tell us what happened?”

No. No, he would rather not. So he doesn’t.

Sho’o convinces his body to move forward despite the aches and pains plaguing his bones. His movements are stiff as he makes his way to his preferred corner, sitting down gently, barely suppressing the wince as the bars catch on a broken scale on his back. He tends to his shoulder first, the easiest place for him to reach. Each scale removed sends a sharp pain across his skin, but he refuses to show weakness.

Sho’o ignores the heavy eyes on him as he tends to his wounds, falling into a familiar rhythm. He has always plucked his own scales. The only one allowed to tend to the ones he could not reach was his brother. However, his brother is not here right now, so he will simply make do with what he can. Sho’o is a professional in that sense.

He has moved on to his legs when, suddenly, a pair of hands reach out for a scale he’s been avoiding, the jagged edge digging into his skin. “Here, allow me to assist!” Out of reflex, he swings his arm, intending to scratch the intruder’s eyes out, but they are pulled back before he makes contact.

“Are you stupid or something!?” Bak’go screeches as he shoves Iida to the side none too gently. “You don’t just touch someone’s scales without their fucking permission, four eyes!”

“Bak’go, that is no way to treat your fellow classmate,” Iida exclaims. He pulls away from Bak’go with several successive clicks. Sho’o elects to return to preening his damaged scales. “I was simply offering my help.”

“You weren’t offering, you were fucking forcing,” Bak’go growls angrily. The cell becomes blissfully silent once more as Sho’o finishes the first leg. He is unaware of Bak’go crouching in front of him until he speaks, jarring him out of the trance he was falling into. “Listen, I know a thing or two about broken scales.” Sho’o stares blankly at Bak’go as he picks at a rather healthy scale, tempted to rip it off. “I have gentle hands.”

That gets a reaction, Sho’o’s eyes narrowing dubiously. He does not respond, he does not have to. Bak’go snarls, taking a deep breath and locking eyes with Sho’o. “Trust me. I’m not your damned family, and I know I’m not you-”

“Bak’go,” Ya’ada-sensei hisses. Bak’go continues as if uninterrupted.

“-but I’m better than nothing.”

Sho’o waits for the punchline to the joke that he has yet to catch on to, but it never seems to come. Bak’go stares at him, impatiently and uncomfortably, waiting to be given permission. Somehow, Sho’o knows that if he refuses, Bak’go will leave him be. Perhaps that is precisely why he dips his head slowly, granting permission for Bak’go to assist in removing his scales.

Bak’go seems thrown off by his acceptance, which in better circumstances would be amusing, but moves behind him to reach his back nonetheless. Sho’o instinctively tenses before Bak’go can place a hand on him. “Relax, or this’ll fucking hurt.”

Sho’o slowly allows the tension to seep out of him, waiting for that first harsh tug. His father made his opinion of assisting Sho’o in removing scales very clear: the activity was far below him. In the past, Sho’o has, in extreme cases, turned to his siblings for help. But his father allowed him to interact with only one: Touya, whose dislike for Sho’o sharpened his movements and shook his hands. Sho’o is anything but a slow learner, and he was quick to stop seeking out his eldest brother.

On rare occasions, N’tsuo or Fu’umi would seek him out, begging to help. He is unsure of how they knew when he was most in need, but one of them always appeared. Every time they came to his assistance Sho’o would offer them thanks before sending them on their way after only a few pulled scales. A neglectful father and a mother in mental decline never made very successful parents; N’tsuo and Fu’umi never learned the proper way to remove damaged scales, and, unlike him, they were never forced to practice on themselves.

Needless to say, he is rather confused by Bak’go’s declaration. No amount of relaxing will remove the pain of this treatment. Is Bak’go’s species different? He is shocked when Bak’go thrusts a single scale in front of his face, nearly twisted in a full spiral. He did not feel so much as the brush of Bak’go’s fingers on his raw skin. Sho’o reaches up and haltingly plucks the scale from Bak’go’s hand. Then, in the most pompous tone imaginable, Bak’go boasts, “Told you I have gentle fucking hands.”

Sho’o wracks his brain, but he comes just short of finding a response. Instead, he attempts to watch Bak’go’s technique out of the corner of his eye. It is a mesmerising process, with each scale sliding easily from their slots on his body. If he chooses to focus on a spot that he can see, he is able to detect a mild tingle just as Bak’go removes the damaged scale, but it is barely there.

Without meaning to, Sho’o mumbles, “It doesn’t hurt.”

Bak’go leans to the side to shoot him a scathing look. “It’s not supposed to hurt, dumbass. Has no one ever shown you how to remove a scale?” Sho’o only stares, unsure of how to respond without the, apparently incorrect, response of no, no they haven’t. Bak’go scoffs, rolling his eyes. “Of course not, your highness, you probably had your maids do it for you, if you ever even needed to. I bet you were pampered your entire fucking life.”

Sho’o frowns but doesn’t disagree. There would be little purpose to an objection. Bak’go would never believe him. They settle back into silence for a moment, and when Sho’o chances another look at Bak’go’s hands, they are significantly easier to see.

With a steadily growing pile of discarded scales at his side, Sho’o speaks up, though he never takes his eyes off of Bak’go’s hands. “When the pirates began the process of returning me to this cell, the planet was attacked by a fleet of my father’s ships. I presume that their orders were to retrieve me. The attempt was nearly successful.”

“Clearly not enough if you ended up back in this shit hole,” Bak’go snipes.

“Clearly,” Sho’o hisses, pulling away from Bak’go abruptly and wincing at the scale crudely tugged by his movement. “That is the reason that I said nearly successful, did I not?” He twists to level Bak’go with an unimpressed, irritated stare. Bak’go is getting under his scales more successfully than usual; he needs to get himself under control.

Bak’go glares back for the few ticks that Sho’o meets his eyes before he takes a deep breath and faces forward once more, granting Bak’go access. “Whatever,” Bak’go grumbles, though he feels the soft tingles resume on his back.

“I was not able to delay the pirates for long enough, and they were successful in dragging me back on board the ship.” Sho’o breathes in sharply as a particularly stubborn scale closest to the wound is slowly pulled from his skin. “I believe that the reason they did not return me to the cell immediately is due to the fact that they were making their escape from the planet and my father’s ships.”

“So we know someone is looking for us, that’s good right?” Ur’aka speaks up hesitantly. “It means we might still have a chance.”

“It’s statistically unlikely, based upon what Az’awa-sensei told us earlier,” Iida says, unenthused and sullen.

“Should we tell them?” Kam’nari doesn’t clarify who “them” is, nor does he make any motion to indicate it. And yet, Sho’o is sure that his classmates and teachers are just as confident in who Kam’nari is referring to as he is. The Terrans are still watching the group; it is best to be cautious of tipping them off as to the current topic of conversation.

“With what vocabulary?” Ya’ada-sensei asks when none of the others respond. “I hate to say it, but we aren’t far enough along with them to really tell them what happened. Any explanation we give them would have critical gaps. It might just make them more stressed.”

“And likely unpredictable,” Iida adds.

A small string of electricity flashes between Kam’nari’s antennae. “They deserve to know. Shouldn’t we at least try?”

To Sho’o’s surprise, it’s Ur’aka who takes a step closer to Kam’nari with another vote against his wishes. “What are we supposed to say? There was a…” her eyes flick to the side as she avoids the word that the Terrans do know. “Battle? They would have so many questions that they can’t ask and we can’t answer.”

“It won’t put them at a disadvantage in any way. They don’t really need to know,” Ya’ada-sensei adds, effectively putting an end to the debate. Kam’nari sits down with his eyes on the ground, evidently upset by the decision. Sho’o agrees with the others, of course. It would do no good to attempt to communicate what has passed with the Terrans. Still, he almost feels… disappointed. Were he on their side of the bars, he would be loath to discover that such a critical event had been kept from him.

Silence falls upon the cells, broken only by the quiet murmuring of the Terrans. It allows for nearly inaudible, though heavy, breathing to become noticeable, and Sho’o looks over at Az’awa-sensei, who has been suspiciously quiet during the conversation. Az’awa-sensei hadn’t even reprimanded him and Bak’go for their sniping previously. In fact, Az’awa-sensei hasn’t said so much as a word since Sho’o’s return.

Sho’o must not be the only one who hears the labored breathing, as Ya’ada-sensei turns to look as well. “Sho’a?” Ya’ada-sensei says, a worried chirp following quickly after.

Az’awa-sensei lays on his uninjured side, head laying flat against the floor, and tails swishing sluggishly behind him. He peels his eyes open slowly, looking up at Ya’ada-sensei, but does not move in any other way. Something itches in Sho’o’s stomach, like a scale left out of place for too long, as Az’awa-sensei continues to lie nearly perfectly still.

Ya’ada-sensei shuffles closer, lowering his muzzle as if to nuzzle at Az’awa-sensei’s neck, only to freeze, feathers rising in alarm before Ya’ada-sensei quickly shakes them back into place. “Sho’a, oh stars, your wound is bleeding again.”

Az’awa-sensei lets out a soft rumble from deep in his chest. When he speaks his words are heavy with his native accent. “‘S not as bad as it looks, Beloved.”

Ya’ada-sensei’s feathers flare and settle once more. He crouches down next to Az’awa-sensei, tucking his wings in tight to keep from touching the wound and making it worse. “You only call me Beloved when something is wrong.”

“Do I?” Az’awa-sensei hums low and soft, “Interesting.”

“Can I look?” Az’awa peels open one eye at the question before shifting his body just slightly so he’s more stretched out, a quiet whine at the pain caught in his throat.

“The students don’t need to see it,” Az’awa-sensei responds. Ya’ada-sensei drapes a wing over Az’awa-sensei and ducks his head to look through the fur.

“It doesn’t seem to be inflamed, and the bleeding is sluggish,” Ya’ada-sensei says after a moment. “If I had proper medical supplies I might be able to handle it, but-” he cuts himself off with a pained warble.

“But ‘s likely to get worse without it, yeah, I figured.” Az’awa-sensei’s eyes slip closed again. “I’ll survive, Beloved. I always have before.”

“You weren’t held captive those other times, and you had your gear. This is so much worse!”

“Keep your voice down, don’t alarm the Terrans,” Az’awa-sensei grumbles.

“They can go fuck themselves, what about us?” Bak’go moves away from Sho’o at last, having seemingly finished with the damaged scales. One of Bak’go’s hands lands on his shoulder as he stands up, and Sho’o doesn’t bother to remove it. He’s too busy watching their circumstances take a nosedive into a group of extremely sharp rocks. “If we tell the guards, they’ll deal with it, won’t they? You’re one of their best ‘fighters,’ or whatever. They won’t do too shitty of a job.”

“They don’t want him to die, but if they don’t think it’s severe enough right now, they could just get mad at us for bothering them,” Ya’ada-sensei responds. “It’s a pretty big risk, especially because we know he isn’t their best fighter. They’d care more about life threatening wounds on the Terrans.”

“What if, what if, what if, that’s all I’m hearing right now.” Bak’go huffs angrily. “Stop with the ‘what if’s! What if they actually help us?” Bak’go’s hand trembles slightly where it rests against his scales. It reminds Sho’o vaguely of when his brother Touya’s hands shook as he plucked Sho’o’s scales after the first time Endeavor forced them to fight each other. Sho’o lost spectacularly, and afterwards Touya came into his room and demanded Sho’o let him help remove the damaged scales.

“The ‘what if’s are important, Bak’go,” Iida cuts in. For once, he does not raise his voice. “One of those ‘what if’s is what if they make it worse? ‘What if they help us’ may be the best case scenario, but that does not necessarily make it the most likely.”

“So, what, you want to just sit here and wait? For what? For them to take him to a fight? You think he’s likely to fucking survive with a wound that’ll reopen at every fucking jostle?” Bak’go’s lip begins to curl up to display his teeth when the lights suddenly cut out for the night cycle. It startles Sho’o. He hadn’t realized they were having a discussion for so long.

“Guys, maybe we should leave this for tomorrow,” Ur’aka says quietly. “If we don’t want to alert the Terrans to the situation, we shouldn’t stay up talking when we usually don’t. Besides, sensei needs to rest.”

“We can’t just-”

“Bak’go, please,” Az’awa-sensei interrupts. Sho’o can tell, even with his sight removed, that sensei’s exhaustion weighs on his every move. Bak’go’s hand tenses, for the second time, on his shoulder before pulling away.

“Fine. What-fucking-ever.” Bak’go doesn’t go far, sitting down heavily next to Sho’o, close enough that he can feel Bak’go’s heat, though not close enough to touch.

The shift in attitude is glaringly obvious. Does this make them friends? Sho’o is unsure if he has ever had a friend before. He does not have any at this moment. Except for, evidently, Bak’go. That must make Bak’go his best friend. There is no competition. Should he give Bak’go an award? Perhaps once they escape he will find something at the markets to commemorate Bak’go’s achievement.

Despite the satisfaction at gaining a new friend, Sho’o feels the sharp unease settle over the cell like a heavy cloth. “Well, I, for one, prefer being a prisoner to the pirates over my father,” Sho’o jokes, attempting to lighten Bak’go’s mood.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Well, that was rather rude. He thinks Bak’go should have at least given him a cursory laugh. As any good best friend would do. Oh, well. Perhaps Bak’go is still learning, just as he is.