Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Natsuo was going to kill someone. He was truly going to kill someone. Probably his father.

His steps slowed as he stormed down the sidewalk, forcing himself to the side so as not to barrel into passersby. The night pressed down heavy and suffocating, clouds blotting out the stars, the streetlamps throwing weak yellow halos onto the pavement. The air was cool, but he barely noticed, it felt like his skin was burning from the inside out. Despite the frost in his veins, thanks to his mother’s quirk, Natsuo carried a boiling rage that made him clench his fists until his knuckles ached. His nails bit into his palms. He welcomed the sting.

He was so fucking mad. So mad he could hardly see straight. All he wanted was to put his fist straight through his father’s smug, scarred face. To make Endeavor feel even a fraction of the pain he had caused. The bastard had strutted around as a hero, as Number Two for ages and then suddenly Number One, paraded as society’s shining hope, while at home he had been nothing but a tyrant. A monster.

Enji Todoroki. His father.

A good-for-nothing bastard who could fuck off forever.

He had spent their entire lives destroying them piece by piece. Ignoring Natsuo, brushing him off like an afterthought. Neglecting Fuyumi until she was forced into the role of parent just to keep them afloat. Beating and breaking their mother, grinding her down until she snapped, until she couldn’t take it anymore. Until the day she screamed and scalded Shouto with boiling water, her mind fracturing under the pressure. Natsuo could still remember the sound, her sobbing apologies, Shouto’s scream, the silence after.

And then there was Shouto himself. The way their father had taken a child and turned him into a project, beaten him, trained him until his body and mind cracked. Called it “discipline,” called it “training,” but Natsuo had seen the bruises, the hollow look in his little brother’s eyes. It had never been training. It had been torture.

And Touya. God, Touya.

Natsuo’s throat tightened, his breath catching as his oldest brother’s face rose unbidden in his mind. Touya, who had burned so bright, who had ranted and raged at night until his voice gave out. Touya, who had cried about how unfair it was, how badly he wanted their father to just look at him. To see him. To love him.

And yet, the second Touya wasn’t “perfect,” the second his flames burned too hot, Endeavor had tossed him aside like trash. No second chances. No comfort. No love. Just silence. Just neglect.

And Touya had shattered.

Natsuo had watched it happen. He had sat there, night after night, bandaging raw blisters on his brother’s arms, listening to Touya whisper between clenched teeth about how he just had to keep training, keep pushing, keep burning. How if he got stronger, if he got better, their father would finally notice him. He had watched his brother’s skin blister and peel, had smelled the acrid scent of burnt flesh, had listened to Touya cry out as his own fire devoured him. And still Touya kept going, still chasing after the impossible ghost of their father’s approval.

And then one day, Touya had burned for the last time.

On Sekoto Peak, his flames had consumed him whole. No one had been there to stop it. No one had been there to help. Not even Endeavor, especially not Endeavor. If Enji had just shown up, if he had just cared enough to go when his son needed him most, Touya would still be alive.

But he hadn’t.

He hadn’t, and Touya had burned.

His brother was gone. Reduced to ashes and memory.

Touya was gone.

After Touya’s death, Enji had just gone back to his old ways, like nothing had happened, like Touya had never even existed in the first place. He’d buried his absence in work, burying his family right along with it. Natsuo could remember it so clearly, his father barely sparing them a glance, walking past them in the halls like they were strangers. 

The house had been quiet, suffocating, except for the moments when Endeavor’s rage broke through. He had continued neglecting Fuyumi, leaving her to pick up the shattered pieces of what little family they had left. He had continued beating and tormenting Shouto under the guise of “training.” That cycle of abuse had stretched on for years, grinding down whatever warmth might have remained.

And now?

Now, for some fucking reason, Enji wanted to atone.

Like suddenly deciding to be a “kinda decent person” could erase years of torment. Like saying a few words about regret could fix everything. Like he hadn’t shattered their family, ripped it apart piece by bloody piece. As if his apologies and his stiff attempts at kindness somehow outweighed the nights Touya had cried himself raw, the bruises on Shouto’s arms, the hollow look in their mother’s eyes.

Fuyumi, bless her heart, was actually forgiving him. Forgiving. Just like that. Sitting at the dinner table, smiling weakly, coaxing everyone to get along, to “move forward.” As if Enji wasn’t the reason they’d been forced to grow up without their mother. As if he wasn’t the reason they were all older now than Touya would ever get to be.

And Shouto… Shouto was indifferent. Not forgiving, but not cutting him off either. He carried himself with this strange, steady calm, like he’d already made peace with the fact that their father was a monster and simply chose to live around it. Natsuo couldn’t understand that. Couldn’t understand how Shouto could just sit across from Enji without wanting to rip into him. Without wanting to scream.

Personally, Natsuo knew one thing, he would never forgive him. Would never forgive the hero who had played the role of a villain so perfectly behind closed doors. Enji Todoroki didn’t deserve forgiveness, he deserved ruin. He deserved to have his carefully polished reputation torn apart, to have the world see him for what he really was. Natsuo wanted to see his downfall. Wanted karma to sink its claws into him and drag him into the dirt.

His thoughts churned with fire as he stomped through the night, his boots hitting the pavement harder than they needed to. His body still hummed with leftover adrenaline from the shouting match earlier. He could still feel the heat in his throat from the words he’d hurled. He had called his father out, told him to his face that he should be in jail alongside the villains he locked away. That if there was any justice in the world, the Number One Hero would be stripped of everything and left to rot.

Endeavor had responded in that clipped, simmering tone of his, the one that always sounded like a dam about to burst. His voice had gotten sharper, louder, angrier, until they were both shouting across the table, hurling accusations like knives.

Fuyumi had been there. Shouto, too. Their faces haunted him now, the disappointment in Fuyumi’s trembling voice as she tried to intervene, the quiet tension in Shouto’s eyes as he sat through it all without moving. Natsuo felt a flicker of guilt. He hated himself a little for ruining the family dinner, for spitting venom across a table his sister had worked so hard to set, for shattering her fragile hope that they could be normal again.

But God, he just couldn’t help it.

He was so angry.

All the time.

How could he not be?

Natsuo kept walking. He kept walking until the anger in his veins began to simmer down. The air was sharp in his lungs, every inhale dragging through his throat like glass, but he forced himself to breathe, slow, steady, deliberate. In and out. In and out. He repeated the rhythm as though he could bleed the rage out with each exhale.

Eventually, when the fire inside him dimmed to embers instead of an inferno, he slowed. His pace faltered. He stopped at the corner of some street he didn’t recognize, and for the first time, really looked around.

None of the buildings were familiar. The windows here were dark and shuttered, the neon signs that still flickered hummed faintly, half their lights burnt out. Natsuo sighed and dragged a hand down his face. He must have walked farther than he realized, chasing his fury until it had led him into a place he didn’t know.

Pulling out his phone, he thumbed open the map app. The glowing screen illuminated his face in the darkness. He traced the blue dot, calculating how long it would take to backtrack to his neighborhood. He hesitated. If he went back now, there was a chance his father might still be awake. He could already imagine walking through the front door and seeing Enji sitting in the living room like a warden, the silence between them suffocating. The thought made his stomach twist.

No. He couldn’t face him again tonight. Not yet.

He shoved his phone back into his pocket and kept moving. Just a little longer. Just until he was sure Enji would be asleep.

By now, the streets had quieted even more. The later it got, the fewer people he passed. The reasonable ones had gone home, tucked away in their beds. What lingered now were the scraps of the night, the last stragglers, the drunks, the ones with nowhere else to be. The air carried a faint tang of stale alcohol and exhaust. The buildings grew shabbier the deeper he wandered, paint peeling from walls, rust spreading across old signs, trash collecting in gutters. His footsteps echoed too loudly in the thinning silence.

He pulled out his phone again, the screen lighting up as he opened the map once more. He told himself he’d start heading back soon. Maybe if he walked slowly, he’d get home after Enji had gone to bed. Maybe then he could sneak into his room like he used to as a teenager, quietly enough not to be noticed.

And then he heard it.

A sound carried faintly from the mouth of a side street, low, guttural, sharp with pain. A human groan.

Natsuo froze. His pulse skipped. For a moment, he thought he might’ve imagined it, but no… there it was again, faint but unmistakable. Someone was hurt.

He frowned to himself, scanning the shadows. The smart thing would be to ignore it, to keep walking, to tell himself it wasn’t his problem. This part of town wasn’t exactly safe. Ducking into a dark alley in the middle of the night was the kind of decision you only saw in cautionary headlines.

But Natsuo wasn’t built to ignore something like that. He was a med student. He’d trained to recognize pain, to ease it if he could. He knew the weight of injuries, the sting of untreated wounds, the silence of those he couldn’t save. And besides… if it really was someone hurt and he walked away, could he live with himself afterward? Could he stomach knowing he’d chosen his own comfort over someone else’s suffering?

He already carried enough guilt. He didn’t need more.

Jaw tightening, Natsuo exhaled and stepped forward, slipping into the shadow of the alley.

The smell hit him first, damp concrete, rotting garbage, and the metallic tang of something sharper that made his chest tighten. Blood? He couldn’t be sure, but his instincts bristled.

He wasn’t completely stupid. He knew damn well how dangerous this was. His mother had always said he inherited her soft heart, the part of him that couldn’t just walk away. Maybe that softness was a flaw, maybe it would get him hurt one day. But right now, it was a nagging, relentless urge inside his chest, telling him he had to check.

Natsuo moved deeper into the alley, his ears straining for another sound of pain.

Soon, Natsuo’s eyes adjusted enough to make out the form slumped against a grimy brick wall. A man in a black-and-white body suit, the fabric clinging tight but torn across the abdomen, dark with blood. Both of his hands were pressed to the wound, but even in the dim, flickering streetlight bleeding in from the alley mouth, Natsuo could see crimson seeping between his fingers, pooling sluggishly down his side and onto the cracked pavement.

Natsuo’s heart skipped. Not because of the injury, that part he could handle… probably. No, what rooted him in place was recognition.

Twice. A member of the League of Villains. Someone who had terrorized his little brother’s class, who had helped kidnap a student and nearly gotten Shouto and his friends killed. Someone Natsuo should hate on principle alone.

A villain.

Every instinct screamed at him to turn around, to walk away before he got dragged into something he couldn’t handle. But his stomach twisted when his gaze dropped back to the blood. The man’s breath was ragged, shallow, his hands trembling as he tried and failed to keep the wound compressed. 

He drew in a deep breath, forcing the air to steady the frantic beat of his pulse. Against every shred of common sense, he called out.

“Hey… are you alright?”

The man’s head snapped toward him so fast it was disorienting, eyes wild behind his mask. “I’m bleeding out here!” he barked, only to immediately contradict himself with manic energy. “Never better!”

Natsuo blinked. His brows furrowed. …Okay. Right. He guessed he’d just go with the first answer, then.

“I’m a med student,” Natsuo said cautiously, holding his hands up in a non-threatening gesture as he stepped closer. “I don’t have supplies with me right now, but, I can try to help. I know how to handle injuries like that.”

Twice shook his head violently, pressing harder against his wound with a hiss. “Go away, civilian! Don’t need you calling the heroes on me!” His voice pitched high, anxious, words tripping over each other.

Natsuo took another slow step forward. “I promise I haven’t. And I won’t. I’m not calling anyone. Look-” He swallowed, realizing how surreal this was, speaking to a wanted villain like he was trying to soothe a spooked animal. “I believe everyone deserves medical help. Even if they’re villains. Even if they’ve… done things.” His throat tightened, but he pushed the words out anyway. “You’re bleeding. Let me help.”

Twice stared at him through his mask, and Natsuo felt his heart start hammering faster, the weight of the silence pressing against him. 

Then, finally, Twice rasped out, “If you make me disappear, you’ll have to deal with my friends. And there will be no mercy.” His voice was rough, like gravel, but the warning was laced with a sharp, panicked edge. A threat and a plea at once.

“Noted,” Natsuo muttered, letting out a shaky sigh of relief that Twice wasn’t immediately pushing him away again. The phrasing, “disappear”, caught his attention, though. It wasn’t a normal way to put it. Maybe just the man’s fractured speech patterns? Or… something about his quirk? Natsuo shoved the confusion down. Right now, semantics didn’t matter. The guy was bleeding.

He moved closer cautiously, lowering himself until he was kneeling at Twice’s side. The smell of iron was stronger here, sharp and nauseating in the back of his throat. Carefully, he reached out and shifted Twice’s trembling hands away from the wound, ignoring the way the villain flinched under his touch.

In the flickering glow of the distant streetlight, he could finally see the injury better. The gash stretched across the man’s abdomen, jagged at the edges, but Natsuo noted it didn’t look too deep, probably a knife wound. Messy, but survivable. But it would need stitches. Definitely. 

Natsuo frowned. His hands hovered uselessly in the air. He didn’t have sutures, antiseptic, or even a clean bandage. 

“Wait here,” he said finally, pushing himself to his feet. His tone was firm but as gentle as he could manage, like he was trying to coax a wild animal not to bolt. “I need to get some supplies if I’m going to patch that wound properly. I’ll come back, I promise.”

“Selling me out to the cops that quick?” Twice rasped, his tone jagged, suspicion dripping off every word. 

“No, no,” Natsuo said quickly, raising his hands as if to show he wasn’t hiding anything. “I’m just getting some supplies so I can patch up your wound. I’ll come back. No cops.” He tried to sound calm, but his voice cracked on the last word, betraying just how surreal the whole situation felt.

Twice tilted his head, watching him with the nervous energy of a cornered animal. “That’s what they all say. ‘No cops, no heroes.’ Then boom! Next thing you know, you’re in handcuffs or worse. Disappeared." His hands twitched against his abdomen, pressing tighter to the wound. 

Natsuo swallowed. 

Then the villain nodded jerkily, half to himself. “Good luck finding what you need, Doc.” His tone cracked mid-sentence. “Or just abandon me, that’s fine too!”

The words echoed in the alley, raw and frantic. Natsuo forced himself not to flinch, even though every instinct screamed at him to run. Instead, he just nodded once and said softly, “I’ll be back.”

With that, he turned and left the alley, his footsteps sounding too loud in the night air.

On the street, he scanned the rows of buildings with quick, sharp movements, adrenaline keeping him wired. Most of the shops were dark, shutters pulled down for the night, but a small convenience store still glowed under flickering fluorescent lights. He hurried across the street and pushed inside.

The store smelled faintly of instant noodles and cleaning supplies. It wasn’t a hospital, but Natsuo grabbed whatever might work, disinfectant, a cheap packet of gauze pads, medical tape, and, thank God, a tiny sewing kit with needles and thread. His hands shook slightly as he fumbled for his wallet at the register, the bored cashier giving him a strange look. He forced a polite smile, muttered thanks, and practically bolted out the door.

He didn’t slow down until he was back at the mouth of the alley. 

“See?” Natsuo called softly, stepping into the shadows. “Told you I’d come back.”

The store hadn’t had much, but it was enough. Natsuo tore open the disinfectant bottle and doused his hands before pulling on a pair of thin plastic gloves. The sharp smell stung his nose. “This’ll hurt,” he warned, and then began cleaning around the wound. Twice hissed and muttered a stream of complaints, half curses, half encouragements to “do it right, doc.”

When the area was clean, Natsuo carefully opened the sewing kit. The thread was thin, flimsy, but it would have to do. He sterilized the needle with more disinfectant before threading it with trembling fingers.

“You’ve done this before, right?” Twice asked, eyes narrowing.

“Uh, something like that,” Natsuo muttered under his breath. “But don’t worry. I know what I’m doing.”

Natsuo neglected to say that the only practice he had was on fake skin. 

He steadied his breathing and pushed the needle through. Twice yelped, biting down on his lip to stop the sound, his hands twitching but staying away. Stitch by stitch, Natsuo worked, his focus narrowing to the precise rhythm of piercing, pulling, knotting. The wound gradually closed, jagged edges pulled together. His stomach churned, but his hands stayed steady.

When he tied off the last stitch, he reached for the gauze, layering it over the wound, then securing it with strips of medical tape. Only when everything was in place did he finally lean back, his shoulders sagging with relief.

“There,” Natsuo said, pulling off the gloves with a snap. He tossed them into a plastic bag and sat back on his heels. “All done. You should be okay, at least for now.”

Twice stared down at the neat row of stitches, blinking rapidly. 

“You actually helped me,” Twice said quietly, almost like he didn’t believe his own words, his mismatched tone cracking somewhere between awe and disbelief.

“It was no problem, really,” Natsuo replied, brushing it off as best as he could.

Twice blinked up at him, eyes wide and darting like a trapped animal’s. Then his voice boomed, too loud for the narrow alley. “I’m forever in your debt!” Just as quickly, he contradicted himself, shaking his head sharply. “Like I’d ever help you.”

Natsuo froze for a second, unsure how to respond to that kind of whiplash. “…Uh, really, it’s no problem,” he said, returning to methodical motions, packing up the bloodied supplies into the little plastic bag he had from the store. His hands were steady, but his pulse was still racing. “I just think that everyone deserves healthcare. Even villains. Do you think you’ll be able to get to wherever you live safely?”

Twice bobbed his head in a jerky nod, muttering under his breath before suddenly snapping back into loudness. “Forever in your debt, Doc! If you ever need something, anything, I’ll help. Count on me!” Then, almost instantly, his voice pitched darker, more suspicious. “Don’t count on me, I’ll betray you for sure.”

Natsuo simply gave a faint, tired smile. He wasn’t sure what else to say.

They parted ways not long after. Twice hobbled off into the shadows, pulling a phone from somewhere, speaking low and hurriedly into it. Natsuo didn’t stick around to hear who he was calling.

Instead, he found the nearest public trash bin and disposed of the makeshift medical supplies, tying the plastic tight so no one would find bloodied gauze or a bloodied needle inside.

By the time he reached the Todoroki household, the air was still and heavy. The house loomed in the dark, familiar, suffocating, and cold in a way no temperature could explain. It wasn’t a home. Homes were meant to be warm, safe, forgiving places. This place was four walls of resentment and silence, a mausoleum with fresh paint.

Slipping off his shoes and stepping inside, Natsuo was quietly relieved to find no trace of his father. The man’s presence always lingered, like smoke that clung to everything, but at least he wasn’t physically there.

He trudged up to his room, closing the door behind him with a finality that felt like putting a barricade between himself and the rest of the world. Dropping onto his bed, staring up at the ceiling, the weight of it all crashed down. 

He’d patched up a villain in a back alley. What the hell was he doing with his life?

His chest tightened with old, bitter anger. He hated this house. He hated the man who had made it into what it was. Every return to these walls tore open wounds that never healed.

He hated his father.

He wanted to see Enji Todoroki fall. To see him pay for every bruise, every scream, every broken piece of their family. To watch his carefully constructed image shatter into dust.

But reality pressed down just as quickly. Natsuo knew the consequences. If the truth came out, society would explode. The public would turn on their so-called new Symbol of Peace, and with the heroes shaken, villains would strike. People would get hurt. The fallout would be bad.

It wasn’t fair. It was never fair. 

And yet, despite everything, all he could do was lie there in the silence of his not-home, wishing for a world where it would be easier.

Chapter Text

Natsuo exited the building, his last class of the day finally over. The fluorescent lights of the university halls gave way to the cool embrace of night. Unfortunately, it meant he’d be walking back to his dorm in the dark.

But it was whatever, he had walked through the dark plenty of times before. At least it wasn’t raining.

Slipping his bag more securely onto his shoulder, Natsuo pulled out his phone, thumbing through old messages and notifications as his footsteps echoed softly against the pavement. He debated putting in his headphones, letting himself drift into the kind of music that could make him forget how empty and tired he felt.

That was when he heard it.

A muffled commotion came from an alley he’d just passed. Natsuo stopped, his brows furrowing. For a moment, he considered ignoring it, but then came a cry of pain, sharp and raw, followed by the sound of a scuffle, a grunt, a scuff of shoes against concrete, then a dull thud.

His stomach tightened. Shoving his phone back into his pocket, he retraced his steps and cautiously peered around the corner.

The narrow alley was dim, lit only by a weak streetlamp that barely reached past its mouth. There, in the shadows, was a blonde girl with her hair tied into two uneven buns, strands of hair sticking out wildly. She was cradling her arm close to her chest, her face twisted with pain. At her feet lay the crumpled form of a man, unmoving.

Natsuo’s blood ran cold.

Shit. That was Toga.

From the League of Villains. He’d seen her face plastered on the news enough times to recognize her instantly. A murderer. A bloodthirsty psychopath. The kind of person who would gleefully cut someone open just to wear their skin.

But… right now, she looked small. Hurt. Her body language wasn’t that of a predator but of someone cornered, clutching her arm like it was the only thing tethering her upright.

She was a villain. She’d chosen her path. And yet, just like Twice, she probably didn’t have proper healthcare. The way she was holding her arm told Natsuo enough, something was definitely wrong.

His heartbeat spiked, drumming hard in his chest. Against all better judgment, the words slipped out of him before he could stop himself.

“Hey, are you okay?” he called, voice steadier than he felt.

Toga’s head snapped around instantly, eyes sharp and wild in the low light. In one fluid motion, her free hand darted to her pocket and came back with a knife, the blade catching the dim glow of the streetlamp.

Natsuo froze, hands instinctively half-lifting in surrender.

“I’d stay back if I were you,” Toga hissed, her voice lilting, sweet in a way that didn’t match the malice in her eyes. “Unless you want me to spill some of that pretty blood I’m sure you have.” Her smile widened unnaturally, stretching into something sharp.

Natsuo swallowed hard, pulse hammering in his throat. “Woah, hey,” he said quickly, raising both hands fully into the air now. “I’m not here for trouble or anything. I just wanted to know if you were okay.”

The words echoed faintly in the alley, hanging there between them.

Toga tilted her head, her knife still gleaming in the pale light, eyes narrowing as though she were trying to decide whether he was worth slicing open or sparing.

Natsuo forced himself to keep his voice even. “I noticed your arm seems hurt. I’m a med student, so… I can help.”

Her lips twitched into something between a sneer and a smile. “You gonna call the cops on me?”

“No,” Natsuo answered immediately, shaking his head, hands still raised. “I wouldn’t do that. You may be a villain, but…” he hesitated, feeling the weight of her stare, “I believe everyone deserves access to healthcare.”

There was a beat of silence, long enough for Natsuo to wonder if she was about to laugh in his face.

Instead, Toga gasped, eyes widening in a way that was far too animated to be anything but genuine. “You’re the guy Twice told me about!” she exclaimed, practically vibrating with excitement. Before Natsuo could react, she darted toward him in a sudden burst of energy, her grin sharp enough to cut glass. “Hi, new friend!”

Natsuo stiffened, bracing himself, but the moment she swung her arms forward, her face twisted in agony. She doubled over mid-motion, clutching her arm protectively against her chest, her knife clattering to the pavement.

“Oww,” she whined, her voice high and petulant, as though she were complaining about a scraped knee rather than what looked like a serious injury.

The sight made Natsuo’s heart lurch despite himself. He exhaled, lowering his hands slowly. “Can I see your arm?” he asked carefully, taking a small step closer. “It might be broken, and if it is, it needs to be splinted. I have some medical supplies on me. Not much, but it’s something.”

Toga peeked up at him through her bangs, grin snapping back into place as if pain had been wiped away like chalk off a board. “Yeah, new friend!” she chirped, carefully holding out her injured arm. “I’m Toga. What’s your name?”

“I’m Natsuo,” he said, already scanning the way she held her arm, unnatural, protective, but trembling slightly.

“Natsuo,” Toga repeated with sing-song glee, rocking on her heels. “That’s cute. We’re gonna be such good friends! You can patch me up and then maybe I’ll drink your blood later!”

Natsuo’s jaw tightened, but he stayed focused. “Okay, uh, maybe later,” he said, forcing his voice to stay steady. “I’m going to roll up your sleeve, which will jostle your arm a little, so… I apologize in advance if this hurts.”

He reached carefully for the fabric, aware of how close he was to someone who could switch from patient to predator in a heartbeat.

Toga leaned forward slightly, her gaze locked on his face. “Aww, you’re polite! You’d make a terrible villain.”

“Uh, thanks?” Natsuo said uncertainly, not really sure how to respond.

With slow, steady hands, he reached for Toga’s sleeve. “Alright, just hold still…” he murmured. He worked carefully, inch by inch, rolling the fabric back over her arm. Every tiny shift made her hiss or twitch, her smile twitching into a grimace, and Natsuo forced himself to keep his movements deliberate, measured. The last thing he needed was to make it worse.

Once the sleeve was high enough, he leaned closer, his eyes narrowing as he examined the limb. The angle was wrong, swelling already setting in. He pressed lightly along the bone to gauge the injury, and Toga yelped, jerking her arm back as her eyes flashed.

“Hey! That hurts!” she snapped, glaring at him with watery eyes.

“Yeah,” Natsuo said, his voice even but sympathetic. “That’s because, as far as I can tell, you’ve got a broken arm. If I don’t stabilize it, it could shift and cause more damage.”

Toga pouted, lower lip jutting out in mock offense. “So you hurt me just to tell me I’m broken? Rude!”

He ignored the jab, rubbing at the back of his neck. “I know how to splint one, but I need something solid to brace the arm against. I’ve got bandages, but I’ll need… I don’t know, a piece of wood or something.”

Toga tilted her head, the movement oddly catlike. “Would that work?” she asked, pointing with her good hand toward a broken mop handle leaning against the alley wall.

Natsuo blinked. “Uh… yeah. That actually would.”

Crossing the alley, he picked up the splintered handle. The wood felt rough beneath his fingers. He planted it against the ground and pressed down with his foot until it snapped with a crack, splintering into three usable pieces. Dusting off his hands, he turned back to Toga, who was watching him with an unnerving, almost gleeful curiosity, as though she couldn’t decide whether she wanted him to heal her or bleed for her.

Suppressing a shiver, Natsuo dug into his bag and pulled out the compact first-aid kit he carried everywhere. His fingers worked automatically, muscle memory kicking in as he threaded bandages around the wooden braces, gently positioning them against Toga’s arm.

“Hold still,” he instructed quietly.

“I am holding still,” she said, though her words were punctuated with little winces as he adjusted the splints. Still, she didn’t pull away this time. Her eyes, wide and golden, studied him like he was some fascinating puzzle she wanted to take apart piece by piece.

Finally, after a tense few minutes, Natsuo tied off the last strip of bandage. He stepped back, exhaling, his shoulders loosening now that the immediate task was done. “Alright. That should work for now. It’s not perfect, but it’ll keep the bone in place.”

Toga lifted her arm experimentally, wincing but managing a grin. “Ooooh, look at you, new friend! So gentle with me. You’d make such a good nurse. Or maybe… a good little hostage.”

Natsuo stiffened, pulse spiking, but before he could reply, she giggled, rocking back on her heels. “Kidding! …Maybe.”

“Uh, okay then,” Natsuo replied nervously, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. His eyes flicked down at the splint, then back to her wide golden gaze that seemed far too focused on him. “So, uh… do you have someone else who knows medical stuff you can go to later? Because, just to be clear, that splint is really only a temporary fix. What you really need is a cast, and those are… well, kind of important.”

Toga tilted her head, humming thoughtfully like he’d just asked her what her favorite food was. “Hmmm… well, there is the Doctor. But I don’t really like him.” Her nose wrinkled in visible disgust. “He makes all those Nomu. They’re creepy and they smell funny. He’s gross.”

Natsuo’s stomach twisted. “Uh, oh,” he muttered, running a hand down his face. From the sound of it, Toga didn’t actually have anyone who could, or should, be responsible for her medical care.

“Does, uh… does anyone in the League have any kind of medical knowledge?” he asked cautiously, half-dreading the answer.

Toga rocked back on her heels, her good hand fidgeting with the hem of her skirt as she thought. “Not much,” she admitted cheerfully. “It kinda sucks, ‘cause no one knows what to do when something actually breaks.” She laughed a little, though it was brittle around the edges. “Except maybe, like, Kurogiri. He knows a lot.”

Natsuo nodded slowly, biting back his thoughts. That’s not even close to enough.

“Oh, wait!” Toga perked up, eyes brightening. “Dabi knows some medical stuff. But I don’t think he’d be any good with broken bones. He’s more… stitches and burns and stuff.” Her voice dipped into a mocking tone. “And he’s also kinda mean sometimes, so he sucks.”

“Uh… right,” Natsuo said, pinching the bridge of his nose. None of this made him feel any better. If anything, it just hammered home how little safety net she had, and how much worse off she’d be without proper care. He let out a long sigh, shoulders sagging.

And then he made a decision. A bad one. The kind that came from a bleeding heart and poor impulse control.

“Hey…” His voice was hesitant, almost cautious, like he was afraid of saying it out loud. “Do you think you could stop by this alley tomorrow? I could, uh, bring actual supplies. Enough to properly cast your arm.”

The words hung in the cold night air, and the second they left his mouth, he wanted to drag them back in.

Toga’s face lit up like the sun, her sharp grin stretching wide and bright in the shadows. “Really?! You’d do that for me?” she practically sang, eyes sparkling with an emotion somewhere between joy and obsession. She leaned forward, too close, too eager. “You’re such a nice boy, Natsuo. It makes me want to drink you right up.”

Natsuo flinched, fighting the urge to take a step back. He swallowed hard, cursing himself internally. Great. Fantastic. I’ve officially invited a dangerous villain into my life. This is going to go so badly.

But all he managed to say aloud was, “...Just, uh, don’t be late.”

“Okay!” Toga cheered. “Same time tomorrow! See ya later, doctor boy!” She gave him a sharp-toothed grin before bouncing back a step and turning on her heel, practically skipping down the alley. Her splinted arm was held stiff against her chest, but it didn’t stop her from humming a cheery little tune as she disappeared into the shadows.

Natsuo just stood there for a moment, frozen. His stomach twisted, and he clenched his fists until his knuckles went white. Then he exhaled, dragging a palm down his face. “What the hell did I just do?” he muttered. He could already hear the lecture Fuyumi would give him if she ever found out, hell, even his classmates at university and the hospital would tear him apart for giving aid to a wanted villain, let alone making plans to meet her again.

But she’d been hurt. And he couldn’t just… walk away. He wasn’t built like that.

A low groan pulled his attention away from his spiraling thoughts. Natsuo blinked, finally remembering they weren’t alone. His gaze dropped to the crumpled man sprawled on the dirty concrete. The guy shifted weakly, a bloody smear visible along his temple.

Right… he must’ve been fighting Toga before I showed up.

Natsuo crouched, pressing two fingers to the man’s neck. A pulse. Weak, but steady. He let out a small breath of relief, then pulled his hand back, frowning. This man could be anyone, some random civilian who just got unlucky, or another criminal who picked a fight with the wrong person. There was no way to tell.

His phone felt heavier than usual when he pulled it from his pocket. The glow of the screen lit up his face as he hesitated, thumb hovering over the emergency call button.

Dammit. He didn’t like the idea of cops poking around and asking questions. But he also couldn’t just leave the guy here in the dark. 

Jaw tightening, Natsuo sighed again and tapped the button. As the line connected and the automated voice began routing his call, he glanced once more in the direction Toga had disappeared, his stomach sinking.

Tomorrow couldn’t come fast enough, and he had no idea whether that was a good thing or not.

…

Natsuo stood in the alley, nervously shifting from foot to foot. The shadows seemed heavier tonight, pooling around the dumpsters and corners  like ink. His backpack, weighed down with medical supplies he’d borrowed, technically borrowed, he told himself, definitely not stolen, dug into his shoulder. He tried not to think about how easily someone might see him right now and wonder why a med student was loitering in a back alley with bandages and casting materials.

It was ridiculous. He shouldn’t be here. She was a villain. A dangerous one. The kind of person he should be running from, not waiting for.

And yet, he couldn’t push aside the part of him that remembered the way she’d winced when he touched her arm. The way she’d lit up when he’d said he wouldn’t call the cops.

He groaned under his breath, scrubbing a hand over his face. A very small part of him even wondered what his father would say if he saw him like this. Helping villains, Enji. Whatcha gonna do about it? He pictured the man’s face turning redder than his flames, forehead throbbing with rage. Honestly, the thought was almost funny. 

The crunch of approaching footsteps snapped him out of his spiraling thoughts. His heart jumped, but then a familiar voice pierced the night.

“Hi, Natsuo!” Toga cheered, emerging from the darkness like she owned it. Her blonde hair was still tied up in its chaotic buns, and her schoolgirl-like uniform was scuffed with a little dirt. The makeshift splint he’d tied yesterday still clung to her arm, crooked but intact. She bounced toward him despite her injury, eyes shining unnervingly bright. “Are you gonna fix me now?”

She held out her arm like a child showing off a scraped knee, her grin wide enough to be unsettling.

“Uh, yeah,” Natsuo said, already regretting this entire plan. “I’m going to properly cast your arm now. But… I don’t have an x-ray machine with me or anything, so I can’t know the exact position of the break. I’ll have to figure it out by touch. Which, uh…” He rubbed the back of his neck, glancing at her knife tucked casually into her waistband. “…means it’ll probably hurt. A lot. Are you okay with me doing that?”

Toga tilted her head, eyes narrowing in thought. “What if you don’t know where my bones are?”

Natsuo swallowed. “Then your arm might not heal properly.” He knelt down, unzipping his bag as he spoke. “The bones have to be aligned just right. It’s kinda like when you break a mug, if you press the pieces back together perfectly, it’s really hard to tell it was ever broken. But if you glue them wrong…” He mimed two uneven halves clashing together. “It won’t fit. It’ll stay crooked and won’t work very well. Same thing with bones. If I don’t set them properly, your arm could heal wrong and you might not be able to move it the same way again.”

For once, Toga’s smile dimmed. She stared down at her injured arm, then back up at him. There was something sharper in her gaze, a flicker of seriousness beneath the cheer.

“…So you have to hurt me to make it better?” she asked quietly.

Natsuo hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah. Just for a little bit. But I’ll do everything I can to keep the pain down.”

Toga blinked at him, then suddenly giggled, the sound high and strange as it bounced off the alley walls. She thrust her arm toward him again, her grin snapping back into place. “Okay, doctor boy! Make me good as new!”

With that, Natsuo fought back a sigh and began to work.

“Alright, I need to take this splint off first,” he said gently. His fingers brushed against the rough bandages he’d tied yesterday, loosening them carefully so he wouldn’t jostle her arm too much. Even so, Toga winced every time the makeshift brace shifted. By the time the splint came free, she let out a sharp hiss, teeth flashing in irritation.

“Hurts,” she muttered, narrowing her eyes at him.

“I know,” Natsuo replied evenly, forcing calm into his voice. “Hang in there for me.”

He cradled her forearm with both hands, running his fingers slowly along the swollen flesh. The skin was hot to the touch, tender in places that made Toga flinch. Beneath it, the bone didn’t feel jagged or bent at an unnatural angle, small mercies.

“Good news,” he murmured, mostly to himself but loud enough for her to hear. “It doesn’t feel like a displaced fracture. Probably just a hairline, or maybe a stable break. Either way, you’re lucky.”

“Yay, I’m lucky!” Toga chimed, though her voice wobbled slightly when his thumb grazed over a particularly sore spot.

Pulling his hands back, Natsuo flexed his fingers, trying to shake off the tension in them. He wasn’t working in a clinic. He didn’t have sterile lights, monitors, or even an x-ray to confirm what he felt. He had an alleyway, a villain, and the knowledge drilled into him from school. It would have to be enough.

“Okay,” he said, forcing a steady tone. “I’m going to keep your arm straight and immobilized. That way it can heal properly.”

Toga leaned in with curious fascination as he prepped his supplies. He slid on a pair of gloves, unwrapped a roll of stockinette, and carefully slipped it over her arm, covering from wrist to just above the elbow. Then came a layer of padding, soft and cushiony, which he wrapped snugly but not too tight.

Once the padding was secure, Natsuo reached for the fiberglass casting tape. The faint chemical smell filled the air as he dipped the roll into water, activating it. He worked quickly, guiding Toga’s arm into the proper position and beginning to wind the damp fiberglass around it. The material clung, hardening layer by layer as he smoothed it down with practiced hands.

“Hold still,” he instructed, his tone firm now. “If you move too much, it won’t set right.”

“I’ll be good,” Toga said sweetly, though her eyes sparkled with mischief.

Even as he worked, she couldn’t help but squirm occasionally, sharp little hisses escaping her when pressure brushed too close to the break. Each sound made Natsuo’s gut tighten, but he kept his movements steady, layering and smoothing until the cast was firm, solid, and neat.

Finally, he sat back on his heels, flexing his sore hands. “Alright,” he said, exhaling. “That should keep your arm stable. It’s not perfect, but it’ll hold until it heals. Don’t mess with it, okay?”

Toga lifted her arm experimentally, marveling at the new shell encasing it. “It feels funny!” she chirped, tapping the hard surface with her free hand. 

“Yeah,” Natsuo said, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’ll feel like that for a little while. You just have to get used to it, unfortunately. Now…” he paused, shifting into a more professional tone, “the bone will probably take six to eight weeks to heal. So, how about we meet back up around then? Same alley, same time?”

Toga blinked at him, her golden eyes wide. She tilted her head in that birdlike way of hers, the motion almost too sharp to be natural. “So… you’re going to be making sure I’m okay weeks from now?”

“Well, yeah.” Natsuo replied, voice steady though a little nervous under her stare. “I wouldn’t be a very good doctor if I just slapped a cast on and vanished. You’ll need it checked and then eventually removed. Like I said before-” his expression softened, “-you may be a villain, but you’re still human. And every human deserves access to proper healthcare.”

For a moment, Toga just looked at him. Her lips slowly curved into a wide grin, fangs glinting faintly under the alley’s dim light. Then she let out a dramatic squeal and clutched her casted arm to her chest. “Awww, you’re so sweet! I think I might cry!”

Natsuo shifted uncomfortably, already regretting opening his mouth.

“Can I have some of your blood?” she asked suddenly, her tone shifting from syrupy-sweet to bright and eager. She leaned forward, eyes sparkling with genuine excitement.

“Uh, please no,” Natsuo said quickly, holding his hands up. 

Toga pouted, cheeks puffing out like a sulky child. “But you’d taste so good! You’ve got such nice, caring blood, I can just tell!” She made a playful biting motion with her teeth, leaning closer as if to test his boundaries.

Natsuo stepped back immediately, heart kicking up a notch. “Okay, nope, we’re not doing that. Medical care only. Nothing else.”

Her pout dissolved into giggles. “Fine, fine! You’re so serious, Doctor Boy. But,” She tapped her cast with her free hand, still smiling. “you fixed me, so I’ll behave… at least for now.”

Natsuo exhaled, trying to calm his nerves. A small part of him couldn’t help but wonder if he’d just made the biggest mistake of his life, agreeing to see her again in a few weeks.

And then, just like that, she skipped away, waving goodbye at him with a, “Goodbye, Doctor Boy!”

Chapter Text

Eight weeks later, Natsuo found himself standing in the same shadowy alley at the same time, just like he had promised. The air was warmer now, summer pressing in, and the alley smelled faintly of damp concrete and cigarette smoke. His nerves buzzed as he leaned against the wall, hands stuffed in his pockets. Part of him half-expected her not to show up, or worse, for this to be some kind of setup.

But sure enough, a singsong voice rang out, “Doctor Boy!”

Toga skipped into view, still as energetic as ever, her blonde buns messy and her grin wide. She waved her casted arm at him like a trophy. “Look! I didn’t even break it again!”

Natsuo couldn’t help a small, weary smile. “That’s… good. Hold still for me, okay? This might feel a little weird.” Natsuo said, reaching for the cast.

He pressed one hand gently against the cast, focusing his frost quirk into a small, controlled patch. The fiberglass chilled rapidly, a thin spiderweb of frost creeping along its surface until with a sharp crack the cast fractured, pieces loosening enough for him to carefully pry them away. He worked slowly, making sure not to jostle her arm too much.

When at last the cast came free, Toga flexed her fingers and wiggled them with a delighted grin. “Ooooh, I feel so light! My arm feels naked! Like it’s freeee!” She swung it in a circle, only stopping when Natsuo shot her a sharp look.

“Don’t push it,” he scolded gently, reaching out to guide her movements. He examined the limb carefully, pressing along the bone, checking alignment. Relief eased into his chest when he realized there was no lingering deformity or pain response. The fracture had healed straight, just like it should have.

“Well?” Toga asked impatiently, eyes wide, lips curved into a hopeful smile.

“You’re good,” Natsuo said finally, allowing himself a small, satisfied exhale. “The bone healed properly. No complications, no crookedness. You’re all better.”

Toga gasped, clasping her hands together with theatrical delight. “All better?! Really?!” She spun in a half circle and then flung herself forward to hug him, her weight colliding into his chest. “You’re the best doctor boy ever!”

Natsuo froze, startled by the action. Slowly, awkwardly, he patted her back. “Uh… well. I told you I’d make sure you healed. So… yeah.”

When she pulled back, her grin was sharp again, but her eyes shone with something softer. “Doctor Boy, you’re officially my favorite human. Well, besides the ones I wanna drink.” She giggled, fangs flashing.

Natsuo sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Please don’t remind me about that.”

…

Natsuo looked over his shoulder yet again, pulse quickening as he swore he felt the weight of unseen eyes on him. The campus library wasn’t far from his dorm, but at this hour the streets were mostly empty, the air heavy with silence. His footsteps echoed against the pavement, uncomfortably loud.

Ever since he had taken Toga’s cast off, that crawling feeling of being followed had haunted him. Maybe it was paranoia. Maybe it was guilt for helping villains. But night after night, walking home, that prickling sensation at the back of his neck never went away.

He turned down a narrow, desolate street, the amber glow of the streetlamps cutting long shadows across the sidewalk. His phone was in his pocket, but his fingers itched to pull it out, to call someone, anyone, just to hear another voice. He forced himself to keep walking.

Then, in the corner of his eye, there was a sudden blur of motion.

Natsuo barely had time to flinch before a figure lunged out of the shadows, a tall shape in a long trench coat, orange vest glinting under the light. His heart leapt into his throat-

And then the world blinked out.

Darkness swallowed him whole.

When awareness returned, Natsuo sucked in a sharp breath. His feet were planted firmly on cracked concrete. His body felt untouched, unhurt, yet disoriented, like he had been yanked out of existence and dropped somewhere else. The air was cold, dusty, carrying the faint scent of mildew. The walls around him were old, crumbling, with graffiti scrawled across them. An abandoned building.

“Sorry about that.”

The voice was smooth, theatrical, carrying an almost mocking politeness.

Natsuo whipped around and froze.

Standing just a few feet away was a man dressed like a stage magician plucked straight out of another century, a long coat, a top hat tilted just so, and a mask concealing his face. In one gloved hand, he twirled a small marble between his fingers with casual grace.

Mr. Compress.

Natsuo’s stomach dropped. His heart thundered in his chest so violently it hurt.

What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck-

He stumbled back a step, his heel scraping against the floor, eyes darting toward the boarded-up windows and the dark corners of the room as if an escape might present itself.

“So you’re the guy who patched up Twice and Toga,” came a rasping, gravelly voice from the shadows.

Natsuo’s entire body went rigid. Slowly, too slowly, he turned toward the sound. His breath caught in his throat as a gaunt figure stepped into the dim light, scratching at his neck with clawed fingers. Light blue hair messy, red eyes glowing faintly in the gloom.

Tomura Shigaraki.

The leader of the League of Villains.

Natsuo’s stomach dropped like a stone. 

What the fuck.

Shigaraki tilted his head, regarding him like some sort of curious animal. Then, with a dry scoff, he said, “Relax. If I wanted you dead, you would already be so.”

That did nothing, nothing, to calm the frantic hammering of Natsuo’s heart. His throat felt dry, his hands clammy at his sides. Every instinct screamed at him to run, but his feet were frozen to the floor.

Shigaraki took a step closer, boots crunching against the dust and rubble scattered across the abandoned building. His gaze didn’t waver. “I have a proposition for you.”

Natsuo swallowed hard, his voice trapped somewhere between his lungs and his mouth.

“You helped my comrades,” Shigaraki continued, words deliberate, almost clinical. “Twice. Toga. You healed them, even though you knew they were villains. You said,” his cracked lips curved into something that might have been a grin but looked far too sharp, “that everyone deserves access to healthcare. No matter who they are.”

Shigaraki’s hand twitched. “We don’t have a doctor. Not really. The one we do have… he’s unreliable. And I don’t like relying on him anyway. So.”

He let the silence drag, letting the weight of his words press down.

“Will you join us?” Shigaraki finally asked, his voice low but cutting through the air like glass. “You don’t have to fight. You don’t have to kill. You don’t even have to be seen. You’ll just be our doctor.”

Natsuo’s blood ran cold. His ears rang. His entire brain was screaming, What. The. Fuck.

His mouth opened before he could stop himself, words tripping over his tongue. “I-, I-”

The sound cracked, stuttered, useless against the suffocating atmosphere of the room.

“You don’t have to make the decision now if you want. You can be allowed time to think,” Shigaraki rasped, scratching at the side of his neck.

“I-” Natsuo stuttered, voice thin and shaky. He forced himself to inhale, then exhale, steadying his trembling hands by running one through his hair. Finally, he managed to look up and meet Shigaraki’s crimson eyes.

“If I say no,” Natsuo asked, words tumbling out nervously, “are you… going to hurt me? Or kill me?”

Shigaraki actually blinked at him, tilting his head slightly like he’d just been insulted. “What? No.” His tone was flat, but laced with something that almost sounded like offense. “Why the fuck would I do that?”

Natsuo blinked right back, disbelieving. “…Uh, well, you’re not exactly known for being, uh, morally upright. I mean-” the words slipped before he could stop them- “you literally kidnapped a kid.”

The moment the sentence left his mouth, dread knifed through his stomach. Fuck. Fuck, why did I say that?

For a heartbeat, silence thickened the air. Shigaraki’s fingers twitched at his side. Then, to Natsuo’s shock, the villain muttered, “Not my best moment.” His voice was low, begrudging, almost like he hated admitting it but couldn’t deny it either.

Natsuo stared. That wasn’t the answer he had been expecting.

“Look,” Shigaraki said, shoulders rolling back. “You can walk away right now if you want, and we’ll leave you alone. Or take a few days to decide. Then we’ll talk. Or…” His lips curled into a sharp, unsettling smile. “…you join us right here, right now.”

Natsuo’s throat went dry. His chest felt tight, each breath shallow. “I-” He dragged a hand down his face. “Can you… give me a moment or two to process this shit?”

“Sure.”

Shigaraki shrugged as though they were talking about something mundane, then took several steps back into the deeper shadows of the room. With a nonchalant motion, he dropped down onto the dusty floor, limbs folding awkwardly. From his jacket pocket, he pulled out a handheld gaming console, flicked it on, and soon the tinny sounds of an 8-bit game chirped through the silence.

Natsuo just… stared.

Tomura Shigaraki, feared leader of the League of Villains, the man whose name was whispered in terror across Japan, was sitting cross-legged on a dirty floor playing video games while waiting for him to decide whether to join them or not.

“…Well, okay then,” Natsuo muttered under his breath, more to himself than anyone else. His brain was still screaming in panic, but now, layered on top of it, was a surreal sense of whiplash.

Taking another deep breath, Natsuo began pacing, his footsteps echoing faintly against the cracked concrete floor. His chest felt tight, every inhale a reminder that this wasn’t some nightmare he could just wake up from.

Shigaraki, the Shigaraki, the motherfucking leader of the League of Villains, was asking him to join. To be their doctor.

Except… Natsuo wasn’t even a doctor. He didn’t have the letters after his name, no medical license, no years of official experience. Just textbooks, classes, and a couple of internships. 

And yet here he was, somehow their candidate.

He scrubbed a hand over his face. On paper, the answer should be obvious, say no. Walk away while he still had the chance. Pretend this never happened. Go back to his shitty dorm room, to late nights of studying, to dinners ruined by his father’s presence. That was the safe choice.

But then, his thoughts dragged back to Twice’s desperate gratitude, to Toga’s ecstatic grin as she flexed her arm after the cast came off. They were villains, yes, but also people. People who bled and broke just the same as anyone else. People who, for all their crimes, clearly didn’t have anyone in their corner when they were hurt.

Natsuo’s stomach twisted.

If he joined… what then?

What if he screwed up? What if someone got worse under his care, what if they died? He had no doubt the League’s mercy would be nonexistent. He pictured Shigaraki’s decaying hand pressing against his face, skin flaking to dust, bone crumbling in seconds. Cold sweat prickled at the back of his neck.

And worse, what if the League decided to retaliate against his family because of him? He could take a hit, maybe, but what about Fuyumi? Or Shouto? Enji, well, he honestly didn’t care too much if the villains went after him. 

And logistically, how would this even work? He didn’t have medical supplies tucked away in his closet. If someone came to him bleeding out, did they just expect to whisk him away to their hideout in the middle of the night? What if he was in the middle of exams? Or at dinner with his friends? Was he supposed to live with the constant threat of being summoned like some on-call doctor for Japan’s most wanted criminals?

It was insane. Totally insane.

Yet still, the thought lingered like an ember, they needed him.

They didn’t have anyone else. He might not have a degree yet, but compared to what they had, he might as well have been a surgeon. If he said no, if he walked away, would Toga’s next break heal crooked? Would Twice bleed out alone in some alley? Would someone else end up dying because no one bothered to help?

His hands clenched at his sides.

Shitty humans or not, villains or not, they were still human. Still alive. And as much as Natsuo hated his own bleeding heart, hated how easily it swayed him, the idea of just leaving them to suffer made bile rise in his throat.

After all, he had spent so much of his life watching the people he cared about get injured. Watching, powerless, as Enji tore his family apart one blow at a time. He had seen his father beat Shouto during training, push him past his limits until his little brother had bruises blooming like ink across his skin. He had seen his mother, Rei, break down under Enji’s fists and his constant pressure, her mind fracturing the way glass does when dropped on stone.

And then there was Touya.

Touya who had burned himself raw, skin blistered and charred, desperate to prove to their father that he was worth something, anything. Touya who kept coming back singed and broken, again and again, until Natsuo lost count of how many times he’d wrapped bandages around his brother’s arms, hands trembling as he tried to soothe him. He remembered Touya’s hiss of pain, the smell of burnt flesh clinging to the air.

Touya had never once been taken to a proper doctor. Enji hadn’t even considered it. And why would he? The great Number Two Hero, now the Number One, could have afforded the best quirk specialists in the country. Could have gotten Touya support gear designed to help control his flames. Could have saved him. But no. Instead, he had ignored Touya’s suffering until his oldest son finally burned too hot, spiraled too far.

And Natsuo was left with scars that weren’t on his skin.

He couldn’t help but think that maybe, if Touya had gotten the care he needed, if someone had stepped in, maybe he would still be here. Maybe he wouldn’t have gone down the path that ended in ashes.

Maybe that was why the thought of helping villains didn’t feel so insane.

Because at the end of the day, they were human too. Broken, yes, twisted by circumstance and choice, but still human. If kindness, even something as simple as patching a wound, could make them pause, could soften them even a little, wasn’t it worth trying? It was a stupid, naïve thought, but Natsuo couldn’t shake it.

And then there was this other part of him, this miniscule, tiny, bitter shard that found the whole thing hilarious. Imagine if he did join the League. Imagine if his father found out. Imagine the headlines when the public learned the Number One Hero’s son was tending to villains in some crumbling hideout. It would be disastrous. Catastrophic.

But maybe then, finally, Enji would notice him. Would actually look at him, not through him. Yeah, it would be the wrong kind of attention, the suffocating, furious kind, but at least it would be attention. Something. Anything.

And the thought twisted his stomach into knots.

Because, fuck.

Was that how Touya had felt all along? That any attention, even the bad kind, was better than being ignored? That burning himself alive was worth it if it meant their father saw him, even for a second?

The realization hit Natsuo like ice water, and his throat tightened. He pressed a hand to his face, shutting his eyes, fighting down the storm of guilt and grief that threatened to swallow him whole.

Fuck it.

This was his teenage rebellion.

Yeah, he was nineteen, technically an adult, but he’d never had the chance for the kind of reckless rebellion everyone else seemed to get. 

So if his rebellion came late, and if it came in the form of saying yes to the League of Villains of all things, then so be it. 

Better late than never.

His stomach knotted as he took a deep, shaky breath and turned to face Shigaraki who was still playing video games. Mr. Compress had joined him now, standing close with an eerie, gentleman-like calm. 

“Shigaraki,” Natsuo began, his voice thinner than he wanted it to be.

“I’m assuming you’ve made some kind of decision now?” Shigaraki asked, getting up from the floor and slipping the little game console back into his coat. His red eyes glinted in the dim light, sharp as razors.

Natsuo swallowed hard, mouth dry. His heart thudded so violently it almost drowned out his own words. “Yeah. I-” He stopped, cleared his throat, tried again. “I’ll join you. But only as your doctor, okay? I’m not…I’m not going to fight or steal or hurt people. Just medical stuff.”

“Sounds fair.” Shigaraki shrugged. “We’ll work out the details soon. For now, just go on as usual. When we need you, we’ll find you.”

We’ll find you.

Yeah. Super reassuring. Totally not creepy at all.

“Great,” Natsuo croaked.

With that, Shigaraki and Compress moved to leave, their footsteps echoing through the hollow building. Neither looked back at him. Just shadows retreating into deeper shadows.

And then, just like that, Natsuo was alone.

Crouching down, he sighed heavily and pressed both hands to his face.

What the fuck had he just agreed to?

Chapter Text

Natsuo lay in bed, tossing and turning, the sheets tangling around his legs like they were conspiring to keep him restless. His pillow was too warm no matter how many times he flipped it over. Luckily, his roommate was out for the night, crashing at his girlfriend’s place, as usual, or Natsuo was sure he’d have gotten complaints about the constant creak of the mattress springs.

With a long sigh, he dragged his hands down his face, then buried them in his hair, tugging at the strands in quiet frustration. His eyes burned, but sleep refused to come.

Because he had agreed.

He had agreed to be the medic for the League of Villains.

The words played on repeat in his head, taunting him every time he tried to shove them aside.

He was going to consistently be around villains. The same villains plastered across the news, the same faces Enji had snarled about at the dinner table with that grim, self-righteous expression. The same people heroes were sworn to stop.

…

Natsuo wasn’t sure how to feel about it.

The rational side of him, the side that still thought in straight lines, that remembered his professors lecturing about responsibility, that carried the Todoroki surname like a shackle, was terrified. Scared that they’d turn on him. Scared that one wrong word, one clumsy mistake, would have him disintegrated, stabbed, burned alive, or worse. These were violent criminals. Murderers. Terrorists. His father would kill him himself if the League didn’t first.

But the less rational side of him, the side that had stopped thinking in straight lines years ago, the side that had gotten tired of doing what was “right” only to watch everyone suffer anyway, wasn’t scared so much as nervous. Excited, even. He felt like he was standing on the edge of something he shouldn’t even be looking at, let alone stepping into.

And… he was curious. That was the worst part.

He was curious about them. About the people behind the headlines, behind the grainy footage of destruction. What were they like when they weren’t terrorizing Japan? Did they eat dinner together? Did they argue about stupid things, like who had to do dishes, or what show to watch on TV? Did they laugh? Cry? Joke around?

Natsuo rolled onto his side and stared at the sliver of city light seeping through the blinds.

He had no idea what the hell he’d gotten himself into.

His mind flickered back to his father like an intrusive thought, sharp, unwanted, yet impossible to push away once it settled in.

Natsuo had never thought of himself as a vengeful person. He wasn’t like Shouto, who carried a kind of quiet steel in his spine, or like Fuyumi, who bent herself backward trying to keep the remains of their family from shattering completely. He was just… tired. Tired of the scars, both visible and invisible, that Enji had left behind. Tired of pretending that everything was fine just because the world now worshiped the man as their Number One hero.

But maybe… maybe he could use this.

The League of Villains had made it clear, they wanted to rip down the image of heroes, tear the system apart brick by brick. If he gave them a weapon, a perfect opportunity to expose Enji Todoroki, to drag him down from his pedestal, they would seize it without hesitation.

Maybe then his father would finally face justice. Maybe the years of bruises, of screaming, of a childhood stolen in fire and fear, wouldn’t go unpunished.

For the first time, Natsuo let himself imagine it, Endeavor, stripped of his title, the public turning on him, the adoration twisting into disgust. His sins laid bare for the world to see. It was almost satisfying. Almost.

But then the guilt crept in, sour and suffocating.

A part of him hated himself for even thinking it, for entertaining the idea of orchestrating his father’s downfall, of letting villains touch his family’s shame. It felt… wrong. It felt like crossing a line he wasn’t sure he’d ever come back from.

Natsuo let out a heavy sigh, scrubbing a hand over his face. His chest ached with the weight of it all, the anger, the hurt, the faint thread of pity he wished he didn’t still feel. It was too complicated, all of it.

For now, he shelved the thought, shoving it down into the cluttered drawer of things he refused to deal with. Revenge could wait.

Maybe later.

Probably never.

…

Natsuo walked back from his late-night class, hands shoved deep into his coat pockets, the cool air nipping at his face. Despite the campus streetlamps glowing at steady intervals, the shadows between them seemed thicker than usual, pressing close, watching him.

It had been four days since he’d agreed to “play doctor” for the League, and paranoia clung to him like a second skin. Every sound behind him, every shift of movement in his peripheral vision had his heart leaping. He knew they’d come for him eventually, they’d told him that much. But knowing it was inevitable, yet not knowing when, was torture in itself. It was like waiting for a blade to fall, listening for the whistle of air before it cut.

His steps quickened when he passed a narrow alley he knew too well.

And then a figure detached itself from the darkness, the mask and long coat unmistakable even before Natsuo’s brain registered the details.

Mr. Compress.

Natsuo barely had time to gasp before the world snapped shut into nothingness.

And then it blinked back open.

He landed with a stumble on warped wooden boards, the creak beneath his shoes sounding deafening in the quiet.

“Fucking hell,” Natsuo muttered, pressing a hand to his chest as if that could steady the racing of his heart.

“Apologies for the sudden invite,” a voice drawled. He looked up to see Mr. Compress bowing with mock politeness, standing near a pale, ragged figure Natsuo instantly recognized, Shigaraki Tomura himself.

“However,” Compress continued, “we don’t think it wise to share the precise location of our base with you. Not yet.”

The reality sank in like ice through Natsuo’s veins. He was in the League’s den now. Fun. 

Suddenly, someone slammed into him with startling force, nearly knocking him off balance.

“Hiya, Doctor Boy!” Toga squealed, clinging to him with the enthusiasm of a child and the hunger of a predator. Her eyes glittered, sharp and eager. “It’s so great to see you again! Can I have your blood now?”

Natsuo froze, unsure if she was joking.

“Toga,” Shigaraki rasped, his voice low and sandpapery, “leave him alone.”

“Aww, you’re no fun,” she pouted, finally peeling herself off him with an exaggerated slump.

“Yeah, no fun!” Twice agreed loudly, before snapping into a contradiction. “He’s awesome!” 

Natsuo exhaled shakily, rubbing his arm where Toga had grabbed him.

For the first time, he really looked around. The building was old, wooden beams exposed in some places, the air heavy with the smell of dust, smoke, and faint mildew. The wide-open floor plan gave the sense of a warehouse that had been half-heartedly converted into something livable.

On one side sat a mismatched cluster of chairs and a sagging couch around a low table littered with cups, wrappers, and half-finished bottles, an attempt at a living room. Against the wall stood another table, scratched and crowded with papers and random junk. In one corner, a kitchen of sorts had been pieced together from scavenged parts, a cracked fridge, a camp stove perched precariously on a counter, and shelves lined with canned goods.

“Are you sure this guy is trustworthy?” Grumbled a man with a lizard mutation, Spinner, his reptilian eyes narrowing. “How can we be so sure he’ll actually help us?”

Natsuo stood stiffly, shifting from one foot to the other. 

“He has helped Toga and Twice, both unprompted. He agreed to help,” Shigaraki rasped from where he sat slouched in an armchair, his pale fingers tapping restlessly against the fabric.

“He’s a civilian,” Spinner shot back, folding his arms across his chest. His voice carried a simmering distrust. “And there’s no way this guy will actually stay if things get hard. How do we know he won’t poison one of us in our sleep? Or dose someone under the pretense of giving treatment?”

The words stung sharper than Natsuo expected. He felt his jaw tighten. “Hey,” he said, his voice higher than he meant, betraying his nerves. He cleared his throat and tried again, more steady this time. “Look, I know I might not look like much, but I really do just want to help. Everyone deserves access to proper healthcare, no matter who they are. Villain, hero, civilian, it doesn’t matter. People are people. I wouldn’t just up and ditch you guys either. I agreed to this, and I keep my commitments.”

Spinner’s glare didn’t soften.

Natsuo hesitated, then added awkwardly, “And if I was going to kill you, I wouldn’t use poison or medicine or anything like that. That’s too cliché for a doctor. Uh, not that I would! I’m not trying to kill anyone! That’s… not me. I’m not the murder type. Uh, no offense to anyone here who is.”

The silence that followed made his ears burn.

“I love this guy! He’s hilarious!” Twice suddenly bellowed, slapping his knee with a loud smack. Then, without missing a beat, his tone flipped. “You’re so boring I want to die!”

“Yeah, see?” Toga chimed in, twirling a strand of hair around her finger as she grinned at Spinner. “I told you Doctor Boy was trustworthy! He’s so cute when he’s nervous.”

“Quiet,” Shigaraki muttered. His gaze shifted back to Natsuo. “Spinner’s right to question you.”

Natsuo’s stomach knotted.

“Yes, you’ve healed my comrades. And yes, you’ve decided to join us,” Shigaraki continued, leaning forward in his seat. “But words aren’t loyalty. Actions are.” His cracked lips curved into something between a smirk and a threat. “You’ll need to prove yourself.”

Natsuo swallowed hard. “P-Prove myself… how?”

“In five days we’re planning something,” Shigaraki said, his voice low and deliberate, like the scrape of sandpaper. “And we’ll need you here to act as doctor if one of us gets injured. You’ll show us then whether you’re truly committed. Do you agree?”

Five days. Natsuo’s mind flicked automatically to his schedule. Sunday. He wouldn’t have classes. He’d be free. 

After a long pause, he nodded, his voice a little quieter than he would have liked, but being surrounded by people he knew could kill him in an instant was not doing his anxiety any good. “Yes. I agree.”

Shigaraki’s smirk deepened as if he had expected nothing less.

But Natsuo’s nerves got the better of him again. “Uh, quick question,” he added, forcing a weak laugh. “Do you guys… even have medical supplies? Or should I, uh, bring my own?

“I’m afraid the League is a little lacking in supplies right now,” said Mr. Compress, his voice polite as always, though the words carried an edge of amusement, as if he found it funny that Natsuo expected a group of wanted criminals to have a stocked medical cabinet.

Natsuo nodded slowly. “Right. Okay. I’ll… I’ll take care of it then.”

Great. Perfect. He tried to keep his expression neutral, but his stomach twisted tighter. He’d have to make a list, gauze, antiseptic, sutures, strong painkillers if he could get his hands on them, maybe some antibacterial medicine.

“Another question,” he ventured, still nervous but determined to gather as much information as possible. His voice came out a little too fast, but he pressed on. “What kinds of injuries are you expecting? Like, with what you’re planning… are we talking cuts and bruises, or things that might need stitches? Or worse? Because I need to be prepared and stock up accordingly. That all depends on the risks you’re anticipating.”

The room went quiet for a moment.

Shigaraki tapped his finger against the armrest of his chair. Once. Twice. His gaze lingered on Natsuo in a way that made him want to squirm. Finally, he tilted his head. “That could be a possibility,” he rasped. “Bring everything you can.”

That was it. No elaboration. No details. Just a vague, ominous blanket statement.

Natsuo bit the inside of his cheek to keep from groaning out loud. So helpful. Really narrows it down, thanks. 

“Noted,” he muttered finally, though his tone was heavier than he meant.

Toga piped up cheerfully, “Ooh, Doctor Boy’s really serious about this! You’ll patch us up, right? Even if it’s messy? Even if it’s… fatal?”

“Preferably before fatal,” Natsuo said dryly, without thinking.

Twice burst out laughing. “He’s got jokes! I like him!” Then, contradicting himself immediately, “No I don’t, he’s annoying!”

Natsuo rubbed the back of his neck, exhaling slowly. He could feel his nerves buzzing under his skin, but at least he was gathering information, at least what little the League was willing to give him. And now, apparently, he was on the hook for being fully stocked for anything.

“Is that all?” Natsuo asked carefully.

Shigaraki gave a curt nod. “Yes. We’ll contact you again later. Just go back to the alley we picked you up from today. Five days. Midnight.”

Natsuo’s throat felt dry as he nodded back. Five days. Midnight. It sounded like the beginning of a horror story.

Mr. Compress stepped forward with his usual theatrical bow. At least his politeness made the situation feel slightly less terrifying. “Then, Doctor Boy,” he said with a flourish of his cane, “until we meet again.”

And before Natsuo could even brace himself, the world blinked out.

He reappeared in the same dark alley where it had all started, the air cool and damp around him. Mr. Compress tipped his hat politely. “I look forward to working with you,” he said. Then, he turned around and vanished from the alley, leaving Natsuo standing there, alone.

For a moment, Natsuo just stood still, staring at the cracked pavement like it could give him answers. Then he let out a long, exhausted sigh and dragged his phone from his pocket. He pulled up his map app, blinking against the dim glow of the screen as he located the little blue dot that marked his location. He was farther from his dorm than he expected. Great. Just great.

He started walking, shoes crunching on scattered gravel, phone held low at his side. Five days. In five days, the League of Villains was going to do something… villainous.

Something bad enough that they were already planning for injuries. And he was supposed to be the one to patch them up. Without any real idea of what he’d be facing. He couldn’t even rule out burns, stabbings, broken bones, or gunshot wounds. The possibilities spun in his head like a grim carousel.

Wonderful. Just wonderful.

His thoughts inevitably circled back to the League themselves. Standing in their base had been terrifying, but in a strange way, they hadn’t been that bad. Not kind, but not immediately violent toward him either. Toga was unnerving, Twice was chaotic, Spinner was hostile, but… he’d survived. They’d treated him like someone who had something valuable to offer.

But one face had been missing.

Dabi.

The thought of him made Natsuo’s chest tighten. Out of all of them, that man unsettled him the most. Not just because Dabi seemed to hate Endeavor with a bone-deep venom, and Natsuo just so happened to be Enji’s son, but because of his scars.

Natsuo had seen the photos, the footage from the news. Skin stretched and torn, silver staples tugging at patches of healthy flesh like some cruel patchwork quilt. 

And Natsuo couldn’t stop thinking like a med student.

From what he’d learned, Dabi technically shouldn’t even be alive. Those kinds of burns, the depth, the spread, wouldn’t just destroy the top layer of skin. They would go through the dermis, maybe all the way into the hypodermis. Natsuo’s textbooks were clear, the hypodermis carried fat, connective tissue, cushioning. If that was gone, if it had been burned away, Dabi’s skin wouldn’t just be scarred. It would be compromised. Fragile. Barely held together.

Those staples… Natsuo was willing to bet good money that they weren’t cosmetic. They were functional. Holding skin that should have sloughed off in place. Keeping tissue from tearing every time he moved.

God. If the damage went that deep, even basic motion must hurt. His joints, his muscles… everything’s probably stiff, raw, half-cooked. His skin might literally tear if he twisted too hard or pulled too fast. 

Natsuo swallowed hard, shoving his phone back into his pocket as the thought pressed heavier and heavier against his chest.

Fuck.

But he wouldn’t back down. He had agreed to be a doctor, so he was going to be a doctor. He’d keep his worries about Dabi’s skin literally peeling off where he stood to himself. Something told him the fire user wouldn’t exactly appreciate unsolicited medical advice about scar care.

Still, preparation was something he could control. He needed a list. A proper, detailed list. His fingers twitched for his phone again, the urge to open a notes app almost compulsive, but he forced himself to keep walking and just think it through first.

Okay. Start small. Band-aids for cuts, scratches, blisters. That was basic, low-stakes. Then gauze, both rolls and pads, absorbent ones, preferably sterile. Antiseptics, both wipes and liquid. Antibiotic ointment. Definitely anti-infection supplies.

Then… the heavier stuff. Splints for fractures. Maybe even casting materials, though that was harder to transport and would look suspicious if anyone saw him carrying it around campus.

He’d need suture kits, multiple, in case of deep lacerations. A variety of wound dressings, hydrocolloid, foam, maybe alginate too. Maybe even tourniquet supplies if the bleeding was severe enough. Medical tape to keep everything secure.

Hemostatic agents, that would be essential. Bleeding was messy and hard to control, and he doubted the League had much patience for a teammate bleeding out on the floor. Wound fillers, saline spray, irrigation kits, cleansers to flush debris. Tweezers. He’d need at least two or three pairs, sterilized, in case he had to pick glass or shrapnel out of torn skin.

Masks. Gloves. Lots of gloves.

He exhaled slowly through his nose, realizing his mental list was ballooning into something that resembled a field medic’s kit rather than a simple first aid bag. He’d have to be discreet, but half of that stuff wasn’t even remotely accessible at a corner pharmacy. Which meant…

His internship.

Fridays and Saturdays at the hospital. Sterile storage rooms. Supply carts. Shelves lined with sealed packages of exactly what he needed.

A knot formed in his throat. Great. Just great. Stealing from a hospital. The very place dedicated to saving lives, and he’d be quietly siphoning off their supplies to patch up criminals. Every moral and ethical lecture he’d ever absorbed at school buzzed angrily in his ears.

But still, he didn’t regret his decision. Not yet. Because at the end of the day, patching someone up, even a villain, was better than letting them bleed out. He was still helping people.