Chapter Text
-Keigo POV-
I never like to be alone; in fact, it is about the worst thing in the world to me. I guess that's why the handlers choose to punish me by locking me in the dark room with nothing but the deafening sounds of silence to keep me company. But that's fine as long as I am allowed to come out and see the others. It isn't anything too bad; I don't like it, but it doesn't ever last too long. So if I don't talk about how my breath picks up anytime a door shuts or the room is too small; that's my own business to tell or not. That's right, it is manageable. Or at least it was until the first one of us didn't come out of his room that morning, we called him Silver because he could control the metals in his body. I was sent to the dark room without any reason, which was strange on its own because they liked to make sure I knew why I was there, and when I got back out again, Sliver was gone. I asked the others what had happened, but they didn't know either. They were also in their rooms and weren't allowed out; I guess I was sent further away because I can listen through the walls. One by one, they all disappeared, Nova, Live-wire,Cyclone, all of them until when I came out of the dark room, I was still alone.
For months I didn't know; I simply listened when the handlers had told me they would come back soon. The more I sat and waited for them to be back the more I didn't believe them. I tried to ask them questions once, but they don't like it when I do that, so that landed me in the dark room for a few days. Needless to say, it didn't take me long to become suspicious enough to act, so after they let me out again, I began to use my training. Information and intelligence collection were some of the very first things that were drilled into my head when I got to the facility at six years old. Now being eight years older than I was, I am pretty good at it. It took an agonizing few months, but eventually they did let something slip. A pair of guards passing through the long, confusing hallways, they didn't seem to realize they were walking in front of my door. The older one spoke to his newly brought-in partner. I listened through the walls with my wings, "Yes, and over here is the containment unit for the advanced hero project; there used to be about twenty of the little brats, but now there is only one." The voice that is speaking gave the distance impression of a gruff and hardened professional; it is a voice of a person who had seen too much and grown too numb to it.
When the response came, it was from a person who is more or less the exact opposite of the first person. Where the first person is gruff and apathetic, this person is smooth and still a bit green to the horrors of the world. "Really? Did they decide to move them back with their families because they weren't the right fit for the project?" I let out a breath of air in relief at the question; of course that had to be what happened. It is all fine, and I should go back to bed and not think about it. Completely ignoring the fact it was the one who still had naive hopes who said it. Before I can take more than a few steps away from my place by the wall, my feet stop.
"No, they died in testing after they left this section of the facility. They wanted to try to better understand how quirks interact with the rest of the body; it wasn't pretty, but the scientist had a field day taking them apart after the tests finished. Honestly, I think some of them were trying to kill them to get a look at what made them tick. Sick fucks." My blood went cold, and getting air into my lungs is like trying to breathe in mud. Dead? How can they all be dead? White noise and static fill my ears and drowned out any and all coherent thought.
Then suddenly, like the thunderclap, the world is in focus again. My eyes lock onto the person who I am seeing enter my room; distantly, I understood it is my handler, but all I can really think is that whoever this might be, they are a threat. So, I do what I have been trained to do when there is a threat. I use my feathers and run him through controlling them from my bed where I am still curled up. It is then that my body decides what I have to do before my mind has any time to catch up. I move through the corridors and kill anything that is breathing, only stopping once at the computer room. A few of them put up a good fight and injured me a bit but, it doesn't matter too much now. After they met me it all ended the same no matter how 'good' a fight they put up. I got a particularly nasty cut on my arm but I ignore it as I skirt into the computer room and begin to download any and all files that might be linked to me or whatever 'project advanced hero' is and put it in a small hard drive I found in a drawer. I will decide later if I should destroy it or keep it, but for right now I need to go.
For the first time in my entire life, I am able to fly free. The night air feels crisp and cool on my face, making my nose cold. The chill seeping into my bones through the thin clothes the commission gave me. It's the first thing I experience but, still it's not a bad feeling. Looking up and seeing the moon was an out-of-body experience for me; it is so large and full, banishing the darkness of the night. Even though I know I have to move, I just stayed there flapping in the sky for a few minutes until the first net went flying right past me, trying desperately to ensnare me and pull me down again to the earth I even more desperately want to leave. I move as quick as lightning toward distant city lights. I don't know where I am, but it doesn't matter because I am free and I am flying. I do small tricks in the clouds as I move higher and higher out of range of any kind of attack from the ground doing all the things they hated when I tried to do during training.
Once I get into the city, I look for a clothing drive for people who need clothes; I am sure I heard about that once. I find a beaten-up ratty old red hoodie and green cargo shorts in not too much better condition. I decide to keep my shoes from the facility after I checked to make sure there wasn't any hidden trackers; they are the only things they let me pick any color for. The shoes are yellow plain sneakers, but, to me, they were the best things in the world. I ditch the clothes they gave me into a burning barrel some homeless people were using to keep warm. I got some strange looks but seeing the blood stain my clothes they didn't ask any questions. I would be more worried they might have implanted a tracker into my body but, that would interfere with my work as a spy later down the line so I know they didn't. I hope they are regretting it now that they don't know anything about where their precious little hunting hawk has flown the nest to. I gave a small chuckle and try to see if there is anything else I need to do.
When I don't find anything after a good while of thinking, I begin to just kind of wander around the streets and try to process what has happened to me. My friends are all dead, so I am alone forever now. I just killed a lot of people, so the government will try to hunt me down. I will never be a hero so, what do I do now? The last one hurt the most, I think. All I have ever wanted in life is to help people, but how can I do that if I am not a hero? I walk the streets for hours stuck in a downward spiral of confusion and self-doubt until I walk right into someone. When I bumped into them, they felt to the ground with a yelp and sat there holding their head as if to try to steady it.
I look down into large multi-colored eyes, one a dull light gray and the other a rich purple encased by black wavy hair with little patches of blue, white, and purple scatter haphazardly in random places disrupting the solid black. I noticed but didn't really comment on the deep bags underneath his unique eyes. He wore a light blue sweater that was way too big on his thin frame; it looked clean but well worn. His pants were just as baggy as his shirt, but that seems to be more about preference than it being too big for him. His face was round and covered with light freckles that were all over his face and neck. I reached my hand down to help him up, but he flinched back instinctively, and I backed up as quickly as I reached down, barely able to contain my own instinct to pull my wings out and puff up too. He seemed to realize I wasn't going to attack him and stood up on his own. Damn, he is tiny. I mean, I am not the tallest, but he is only like a max of a meter and a half. The silence was making me feel awkward, so I spoke first to break it: "Hi, I am Hawks; nice to meet you." I pause for a second, not knowing what to call whoever this is.
"Niko, it's also very nice to meet you Hawks; wait, are you injured?" His face while before had been light and sort of just taking everything in stride but topped with some hesitance, with the flash of fear when he thought I was going to hurt him. He is now all serious and concerned professionalism. His eyes narrowed and his nose scrunched up in a way that I found oddly endearing. He reached up the arm of his sweater and wiped off some of the blood dripping down into my eye from a small cut on my forehead that I didn't even realize was there. All I could do with this change is hold still and let him wipe it away. After he finished cleaning at least some of it, I began to nod my head and let him pull me along to a bench at a nearby park. Watching as I see him pull out a small first aid kit and look up to me with his mismatched eyes colored with pure concern, "Where does it hurt?" My heart sped up and my breathing hitched; no one has ever looked at me like that. "Well, except for your face, I can see that. I wish I had more equipment; oh, what if there are internal injuries?" I watched as he began to pick at his nails as he spoke, and I placed my hand slowly and deliberately on top of them to make him stop but, still trying very hard not to scare him again.
"I don't know too much about internal injuries, but I am pretty sure it's just a cut on my arm and a twisted ankle, if you want to help with those." He looked up from where I still had my hand over his and beamed up at me while nodding and getting out the bandages he would need. I don't know much about normal kids, but they aren't normally this excited about helping treat injuries, right? Plus, there is the fact he knows how to do it in the first place... My mind ran through the various possible reasons why he knew anything about treating wounds as he skillfully wrapped up both my ankle and the gash on my arm. As he moved, I saw how he concealed a small limp and a few painful winces that I could see, but I don't comment on it. He is nice enough to help me without asking how I got hurt, so I should give him the same respect and not pry into his life.
We sat there in contented silence as I watched him work with interest and listened to him hum a short tune as he focused on getting the bandages on my ankle tight enough to help. Then he spoke up almost out of nowhere and broke the quiet we had made."So, not going to tell me your life story?" I could tell he was trying to make a joke, but it didn't really land with me. I still gave out a small chuckle just to make him not feel as awkward. "It's ok, I know that wasn't the right thing to say. I am not very good at the whole social interaction thing, but normally when I help people out, they tell me about how they got the injuries they have, I guess as some kind of payback for my help. You don't have to or anything, but I am told I am a good listener." He gave a short, almost secret smile that kind of made my heart melt in my chest. The tension that built in my shoulders at his first question faded; whoever told him that isn't wrong. I feel calm around him, like he won't judge me for anything I say or do. It's nice.
"I don't know about the life story, but I am having a bit of trouble with an issue. Is there a way to help people without being a hero?" He seemed to stop and contemplate his answer carefully as he began packing the extra supplies back into the medical kit. It was like he couldn't have his hands not do anything, whether they were fidgeting with his sweater or picking at his fingernails or just doing some kind of task, they needed to keep moving. It is captivating to see. I watched as he came and sat back on the bench next to me. He looked up at the night sky, there wasn't many stars but the moon was still clearly cutting through the gloom of the dark.
When he sucked in a breath and began to speak, I moved my head up to watch him as he got this serious expression on his face. "I think as long as you are what people need, then that makes you a hero. I think society is too reliant on quirks and heroes. Don't you think that people should help people just because they need help?" He turned his vibrant eyes on me as he continued, "If we do that, then does it really matter who we are or how we do the helping? Hero or not, people are still living for the better, right?" I found his words to be completely correct in my head. Why does it matter who helps who? Or even how? Then he hesitated but still spoke once more; quiet and reserved but still there. "I don't want to be a hero, but I have a hero's quirk. I want to be a doctor." He sounded too, well it can only be described as breakable, in that moment. To me, for how long I have known him, which I will be the first to admit isn't long, Niko is such a kind and compassionate person; why is something as stupid as the quirk he has determining what kind of dream he should have? I left my face carefully blank, but under the surface, a rage was bubbling. I didn't know I could feel that anymore, but what am I angry at?
People? No, I still want to help people, so I can't hate them this much. The Hero Commission? Yes, I am upset at them for what they did to my family, but no, there is something different. Heroes society as a whole? Yes, I hate it! I hate that it raises some quirks over others, I hate that it places people into boxes based on what their quirk is good for, I hate how black and white everything is made out to be, heroes vs. villains, good vs. evil, but mostly I hate that no one is trying to change it or make it any better. We all just sit there and stew in the things that are wrong and wait for everyone else to come in and fix it for us. A smile began to form on my face. "I agree, Niko; I think I have an idea of what I want to do now." He flashed me a smile as I began to stand up from the bench. I want to be the one who does something; I want change, and I want to be the one to bring it. "It was good to meet you, and thanks for the advice, Cutie!" I sent him a wink; he ducked his head and grabbed his cheeks with his hands to hopefully hide a blush coating his face. I let out a small chuckle as I slipped away into the night.
--Niko POV--
"Move! Get up, you lazy little bitch. You think you can be a hero with such weak resolve to keep fighting! Might as well give your spot to any average punk on the streets; why don't we?" I was lying on the ground, chest heaving and head spinning. My dad is the number fifty-two in the hero rankings. Zephyr, the airgun hero, yelling in my ear doesn't help the massive headache that is blooming in the back of my eyes. His voice suddenly became distant, sort of unreal in my ears, and I feel as my body moves almost on its own and I begin to feebly try to defend myself from the barrage of his wind projectiles flying at high speeds towards my body. I am suffering from quirk exhaustion and, I guess, plain old insomnia, so when I try and suck in a breath to gain enough control of the air around me, it breaks easily and my defense crumbles. My mind watches on with a distant and dull understanding that I am being hurt, but my feet stay rooted down in the ground, still tanking the bubbles of conclusive air flying at me from all different angles. I don't let myself fall to the ground again because that would just make him even more angry with me. One of them hit my face, making my nose bruise, and began to drop with a steady stream of warm blood. "Fine, if you insist on being such a little baby about using your quirk anymore, we can switch to hand-to-hand combat." A pool of dread begins to form in my stomach, but I nod my head anyway, accepting that he is just going to beat the shit out of me and there isn't too much I can do to stop it. After all, what 12-year-old can go up against a hero in the top one hundred without a quirk? Most certainly not me, that is for sure.
Some distant part of me knows this is because I didn't treat my wounds last night like I had gone out to do before I met Hawks, but I still can't bring myself to care all too much. Even if I know that isn't his real name or if my classmates laughed at me when they kicked my injured leg out from under me and made my slight concussion much worse when I hit my head on the top of one of the desks. Thankfully, the teacher saw me after I fell on the ground and sent me home. Unfortunately, he didn't see them actually tripping me; they would have gotten in trouble if he did. The school doesn't want to upset my dad by handling me wrong. But because they sent me home, my dad found out. Now here I am in extra 'training' to try to make sure I 'understand what I did wrong' or whatever that means. He's drunk and we both know it so him making any sense at all isn't really on the table.
I am the only child he has, with my mom and my current stepmother. Mom, though I don't have a lot of memories of her, was kind and tried her very best to defend me and stop Dad from going too hard in training. I know she was a doctor even though her quirk was a weaker form of telekinesis that could move objects in an orbit around herself; that's kind of why I want to be one, and she loved to read. One of the only memories I have of her is when she was curled up on the plush red armchair when dad wasn't home. Her black silky hair was tied up in a loose low ponytail, and she had big round glasses on her face with her nose buried in some pre-quirk literature that she loved. I remember looking into her gray and purple eyes, which match mine, and reaching up for her to pull me up to sit with her. She laughed like the sound of small bells and didn't hesitate to place me on her lap and begin to read to me. I wasn't really listening to her; I was counting the dots on her skin as her soft melodic voice lulled me into a deep uninterrupted sleep. She was the only one who could get me to go to sleep for any longer than a few hours. But she died when I was seven; my dad didn't tell me any of the specifics, but I know it wasn't pretty. He was angry after that, and I get most of it, especially after he got remarried to that she-devil.
I don't want to talk about it too much more, but let's just say it got worse. The worst thing is, though, they hate the idea of me being anything but a hero; they think heroics is the only thing I am good for because of my flashy air control quirk. My dad thinks that because my quirk is more versatile than his in combat, it means I am meant to be a better hero than even All Might, and I am pretty sure my stepmother just likes that they have control of what my future will be. They thankfully don't know I want to be a doctor, but I couldn't keep my distaste for heroism from them, and they really don't like that. I don't care though; I will be a doctor. That's why I have been going out at night like I do. I come across people who need help, and I help them and learn from them when I can so I can treat different injuries better. Mostly I get to practice on myself, but, hey, practice is practice, right?
Finally, a few hours later, Dad left thinking that I had passed out, and I snapped back into myself with the loud slamming of the door and the long string of cursed insults making their way down the hallway away from me. Robotically, I picked myself up and stumbled from the training room and towards my own room. I sigh as I push my door open to my quiet room, and move towards my bed, making to plop face first onto it. But, thinking back over to my injured face and body I rethink that action and instead lower myself into a sitting position. From underneath my mattress, I pulled out a slightly larger medical kit, which I brought out last night. Now that I have the chance to think about it, last night was weird. I have a spinning ceiling fan with a light attached, and a desk on the opposite wall of my bed next to a small walk in closet. The walls in the room were pretty barren save for a few drawings I made when I was trying out art. The desk was clean and organized, it was the same for the closet. Hell if my life had to be a mess why should my only relatively safe space be too?
Not the out and about at two in the morning thing; that is normal for me whenever Dad's training isn't enough to make me crash after I treat my wounds, but the fact the person I met was my age. Ok, well, not my age exactly; maybe a few years older, but not by much. And he introduced himself prior to me helping him patch up his wounds. Normally I don't talk to people unless I see they are injured, plus I normally approach them first. I know we ran into each other, but it's not like he had to talk to me; I mean, he probably shouldn't have when he looked like that, and well, I look like me. His hair was a fluffy golden brown, ruffled in a way that was so effortless and cool it wasn't even fair. His eyes, though, were what really gave my stomach butterflies. Golden like his hair but piercing like no one who I have ever experienced, but they were also kind with a deep and profound sense of confusion and longing for something I couldn't put my finger on. I hope I helped at least a little bit to sooth the clear pain he was in. He was strong, but he felt safe, unlike any other person before; I even told him my dream. My most carefully guarded wish, and he didn't laugh at me for it. A small smile graced my lips at the thought of it, then I promptly devolved into a blushing mess thinking about how he called me cute before he left. "Why did he call me that? Totally not fair!" I yelled a bit into my pillow and kicked my legs into the bed to get out the excess energy. Then I quickly stopped because the action made my head spin.
After my outburst, I lay boneless on the bed, staring up at the ceiling fan spinning above me. I can't sleep, and both me and my body knew it. So I just waited and waited until the sun was down. I didn't even bother with going down for dinner; even if they would have made me any, I don't think I could handle anything if I tried. So when the alarm on my phone goes off at midnight without me getting a wink of sleep, I push myself out of bed and climb over to my window, picking up my portable first aid kit as I go. Before I start to climb out I slip the kit into my front pocket because I need both hands to climb down the tree outside of my window. I would just fly down like how I get back up, but I am still suffering from slight quirk exhaustion, so I can only wait until later to use it to get back up.
Once my feet hit the ground, I look up and lock eyes with a boy on the sidewalk in front of my house. I stop in my tracks for a second and just look at him as he is illuminated in the light of the streetlamp. His shocked white hair was littered with specks of red, much like how mine is smattered with colors amiss the black. Like a mirror of one another, neither of us approaches first until I see a bandage poking out of the neckline of his white short-sleeved T-shirt. I moved slowly in choreographed movements so as not to spook him and, in turn, myself. He let me get closer with only the slight tightening of his shoulders. I looked up to see his blue eyes looking down and searching me as if looking for some kind of sign if I was a friend or foe. After looking up at him in the eyes for a few more seconds, I looked down and began picking at my nails seriously under the stare of the other boy. "What do you want?" His voice was a bit snappy but not unkind, though it made me jump a bit.
"Right, yes, sorry, I just couldn't help but notice you were hurt, and I was wondering if you wanted some help. I am sorry, you are probably fine; I mean, you are walking alright, and..." Yes, I am panicking a little. Sue me, he is really hot, but also like really intimidating, and I am not sure which of them is making it worse. I am such an idiot. I could feel his gaze burning into me, but my eyes still didn't leave the ground at my feet.
"Fucking fine, if you are going to look so sad about it fine yes, I am hurt and you can help, fuck." I look up at him and smile while pulling out my first aid kit then I pause and look up at my house. Yeah, nope definitely not doing this here.
"Umm sorry if this is too inconvenient for you but, could we not be here?" My eyes shifted nervously between the house and the boy. "There is a park not to far from here; just a five minute walk I swear but, I just-"
"It's fine, jeez you worry too much." He grabbed my free hand surprising me for a bit, but he just continued, "What direction is the park?" As I am being pulled along and still reeling from suddenly being the one being led instead of leading, I am only able to dumbly point to the direction of the park. Because he is taller than Hawks, I can't keep up with his speed, when he noticed I was struggling though he surprisingly slowed down to make it easier for me to walk with him.
Once we get to the closest bench, I pulled out the medical kit, "Ok, could you tell me where it hurts the most?" He nodded and pointed to a large second degree burn on his left forearm, I nodded my head and pulled out the kind of bandages that are used to treat burns. "Alright I think I can treat it but, if it was too much worse it might have destroyed some of the nerves in your skin, whatever happened to burn you this bad, I wouldn't recommend anymore unless you want some serious scaring." I murmured as I worked trying to fill the silence as I went. This kind of silence is nothing like how it was with Hawks, with him I was comfortable and felt safe but, with this new person I still feel safe but, I don't feel the same kind of comfort around him. Why and I comparing how I feel with this person with Hawks? I don't know either of them. I was so lost in my thoughts and work that I didn't notice until I was done. A look of slight horror pasted on the guy's face. I don't want to pry if he doesn't want to tell me but, "Are you alright? Is it something I said?" His face contorted again as he looked at a spot in front of where we sat.
"Hey, I am only going to tell you this because you are a complete stranger with no real reason to care about this so listen up." Subconiously my back straightens and my eyes move to train onto the person. "You can call me Dabi, but that's not important, I have a quirk that hurts my body, and my old man, that bastard, is trying to make me use it so I can beat All Might and become the number one hero because he never could. I have been messing with the idea of running away for a long time but, I don't know if it is the right thing to do. So what do you think as someone who doesn't have anything to do with the situation?" I paused and thought about it.
"I think you should get out." I moved my head to rest on my arm propped up on my knee and met his eyes, "From what I have seen of the injuries you have, you need to get out. If something doesn't feel like it's supposed, then trust yourself and go do what you need to do to keep yourself safe and healthy." I looked down at my hands knowing full well that I am an absolute hypocrite for my words. "I wish I could." I whisper more into the night than to the person beside me, Dabi. With that I pick up my med kit and wave good-bye and begin to move towards the more common streets for people to be hurt in.
---Touya POV---
After the strange boy left, I sat on the bench for a few hours longer, turning what he said over in my head. Trying and failing to find fault in any of his words. I look down at the bandages skillfully wrapped on my arm and the thoughts solidify. I need to leave, Endeavor be damned. So as I make my way home, I try to figure out what I want to tell my family. I climb into my window, and furiously begin to write out a letter in a code we all came up with mostly to trash on Endeavor without him finding out and taking it out on any of us. I packed all of my important things when I saw Natsuo in the door with his brows pinched and his mouth set into a determined line. "You're leaving aren't you?" I suck in a sharp breath but, hold firm and nod my head. "Alright, I will get some cash from Endeavor's wallet." With that he left and returned a few minutes later with a few thousand dollars; enough to get by for a good couple months if I am good about how I spend it. I nod my head and went to hug him while pressing the letter into his hands. "Before you go, what made you decide? I have seen you wavering for a while but, what did it?"
A small smile crept it's way onto my face without my permission when I thought of the strange but, kind boy who I talked to not too long ago. "Someone told me to trust myself and get out while I didn't have too many scars." His eyes widened and he barked out a laugh before wiping his eyes, "See you again later and tell Shouto about me please?" He nodded his head and clutched the note to his chest as I slipped out the window with all my worldly possessions and a drive to change this horrible thing we call society.