Chapter Text
Himiko’s throat hurts. From crying, and screaming, and the boils after carrying Matsu’s body back. Twice is withdrawn, almost as guilt-ridden as her. He tries to goad Himiko into hurting him, and with every fiber of her being she swears she wants to, but Himiko can’t bring herself to hate him. Now, she rarely sees him, busy as he is working on making the drug safer.
But her throat doesn’t stop burning with everything stuck in it. Her hatred wells up under her skin like the blisters Matsu would accidentally give her, and Himiko stops caring so much about the people who left her behind so long ago. They made their choices to be vile or apathetic, and now Himiko is making her choice to destroy the world that killed her best friend.
+++
One morning, well into winter break, Satoru wakes to a room that isn’t quite as cold as he expects it to be, and a bed that feels gentler than he’s used to. Gentle in how his blankets caress his chin when he pulls them higher, and how the mattress dips and cups his head, as if encouraging him—very gently—to leave.
Feeling better than he has in weeks, Satoru slides from bed, washes up, and pads out to the living room his fuzzy casual wear with his hair silky and voluminous, and perfectly dry after a convenient use of infinity on the water molecules. All Might is already there, fussing with a tree Satoru only barely remembers magically appearing one day.
“Merry Christmas, Satoru!” All Might turns, slightly flustered with too many ornaments to fit in one hand, but not enough to justify two, and the bells of laughter that pull from Satoru startle them both.
“Merry Christmas. Are you still decorating?”
“Just adjusting some things,” All Might explains offhandedly, moving a poor ornament a few twigs left, then one to the right before being satisfied. Satoru leaves him to it, nose guiding him to the kitchen where he finds a simmering hotpot, Christmas cake, and a bucket of KFC fried chicken. He smiles mirthfully at it, taking a piece for taste testing, and gives the hotpot a good sniff.
The chicken tastes about the same as any other KFC fried chicken, but Satoru always enjoys eating it this time of year, both because it is very tasty fast food, and because of the horrible experience he had after Suguru defected.
Satoru hadn’t even realized the confrontation had happened in front of a KFC until he returned to buy his Christmas bucket and was confronted by a painfully familiar plaza. He’s never been quite able to sever that particular association, but now at least he is able to appreciate the comedic value in it. He’s pretty sure Suguru would laugh with him, if he were here.
Hey Suguru?
Hm?
Did you know I almost killed you in front of a KFC?
It’s a fond fantasy.
Heavy footsteps speak of All Might’s approach, the man placing a hand on Satoru’s shoulder as he asks, “Do you want to invite friends over? You woke up late, but we still have a few hours before dinner to do whatever you want.”
Satoru hums as he considers the offer. It would be nice to Izuku again—he hasn’t really gone out except for when the boy badgers him into functionality—and rekindling his relationships with his gen eds has been on his to-do list for a while, but after giving it some thought, Satoru shakes his head.
“I’m sure they all have plans.” And I wouldn’t mind just being with you.
All Might nods, following Satoru’s example of prematurely snacking on fried chicken. “How late were you up?” he asks lightly with a surreptitious glance at the microwave clock, reading an accusatory 2:00pm.
“I’m still a spry youngling—I can afford to mess up my sleep schedule,” Satoru deflects from the fact that he has been both oversleeping and suffering from insomnia. All Might gives up easily though, offering Satoru a well-balanced lunch of sandwiches and playing round after round of Texas Hold ‘Em until they get bored, then they spend the next three hours staring at a thousand piece jigsaw puzzle while Satoru tries not to tunnel vision on the atomic build of the pieces. To think, this is how he’d find his weakness.
When the glimmering city view from All Might’s penthouse is bathed in spots of orange under a star streaked, melting sky, they finally pull away and tuck into the hotpot and chicken, but most importantly, the cake. It is a very good cake. Satoru tells All Might, “My quirk likes this one a lot. You should buy me more cake.” All Might smiles indulgently, and something sparks in Satoru’s stomach that he chooses to ignore.
The feeling only worsens when All Might directs them to the couch, gets down on his creaky old-man knees, and pulls and easy to overlook package from under the small Christmas tree.
“Oh,” Satoru says when All Might hands it to him. “I didn’t get you anything.”
“That’s okay,” All Might tells him, slightly awkward, once again showing his inexperience in comforting children.
Well, children he’s responsible for. The near grimace on the face of a man known for his smile is humorous enough for Satoru to crack a grin as he pompously tears open the gift, only for it to freeze on his face and his hands to still.
It’s a piece of ancient technology, old even by Satoru’s standards. A clearly aged, but miraculously pristine Gameboy and a sleeve with several cartridges.
“Whose family did you have to threaten for this?” Satoru asks in astonishment, turning the thing over in his hands. It must be almost two hundred years old at this point—no collector in their right mind would ever cough up such a thing, even to the number one hero himself.
“A friend,” All Might mentions offhandedly. “Though they wouldn’t have parted with it if you weren’t so interested in old things.”
“Ew, call it retro,” Satoru complains. No one can slander Plants versus Zombies like that.
Then, for lack of direction and thanks to that nagging feeling in his gut, Satoru again mumbles, “I didn’t get you anything.” This time, All Might looks a little sad.
“Really, it’s fine,” he assures Satoru. “Just enjoy Christmas; that can be your gift to me.”
“That sounds like another gift to me,” Satoru refutes, but really does try to let the holiday spirit invigorate him. It’s a nice distraction.
+++
They return from break. Satoru gets cornered by his friends, and after expertly dodging the emotional talks, things are more or less back to normal. He mopes his way through class and doesn’t even pick any fights when Shinsou joins them at the start of the term.
The drug samples remain forgotten under his bed. The Plus Alpha Energy activation training is put off indefinitely. Satoru promised Aizawa that he’d stick around for the entire year, but at this point he’s just counting down the days. When news arrives that their final exam has been replaced with the provisional licensing exam, Satoru scoffs.
How very future focused. How very pointless.
He passes, of course, with the ease of someone bolstering themselves with cursed energy when the cameras are off, and the test is designed to be flexible so as long as Satoru plays nice with the actors, things go smoothly.
With a mere two weeks left of the year, Aizawa sits Satoru down again, face carefully neutral.
“You’re still planning on quitting?” It’s not as ambiguous as it should be. They’ve both seen Satoru’s enthusiasm—or lack thereof—so Satoru doesn’t bother mincing his words when he responds with an even, “Yes.”
Aizawa lets out a deep, expectant sigh. “Let me propose something to you: a summer internship. It would—”
“Absolutely fucking not!” Satoru reels back, appalled. That’s his summer break in jeopardy!
As an adult who has to work 24/7, much like past Satoru, Aizawa makes it his mission to spread the misery of a busy schedule. “Just listen,” he groans persistently. “And mind your language.”
Satoru sneers.
Aizawa squints tiredly at Satoru, his hands clasped and thumbs tapping impatiently together. “Are you done?”
“No,” Satoru answers immediately and proceeds to sit still and quiet for one of the few moments of his life.
“As I was saying, this isn’t going to be typical hero course work. Look, I—” he breaks off with a, dare it be said, embarrassed sigh. “You’ve got a lot of potential. For someone all but quirkless, your skills are amazing, Gojo-kun, and I know you know it. I want to help you succeed.”
Aizawa pauses to reach into his desk and pull out a thick sheaf of papers, a small bundle separated at the top by a paperclip. He sets the stack facing Satoru and pushes it closer. “These are all the agencies that partner with UA for internships. I’ve separated ones I think are a good fit at the top, and you’ll find a tab separating the agencies still interested in you at the bottom.”
“…Right,” Satoru hums skeptically. He’s been through this song and dance already post-sports festival, though his options were forcefully limited to Aizawa, Shouta, and Eraserhead. He tries to convey his incredible disinterest with a pointed stare, but the hypnotic Six Eyes give it an uncanny quality that kind of ruins the effect. Whatever, Aizawa clearly doesn’t care either way, as he only pulls out a half sheet with the header, ‘internship approval’. Great.
“I’m not doing it,” Satoru once again tries to impress upon his teacher, but he realizes with a sinking feeling that he’s rapidly losing ground. The fact that he of all people is still here, indulging this attempt at persuasion is proof enough.
“I’ve noticed you perform best during field work,” Aizawa begins blandly. “The principal and I agreed that a curriculum with more focus there would be beneficial, given you already excel at the hero foundations… when you try.”
The tacked on bit had Satoru opening his mouth to protest, but then the rest of the sentence catches up to him and he thoughtlessly blurts out, “You talked to the principal about this?”
“Yes?”
“Oh… Okay.” I am an adult. I fully independent, twenty-nine years old adult, Satoru reminds himself, somewhat vexed by how much he’s been his ass handed to him by the quote unquote, “father figures” in his life. It should not be this hard to refuse an internship.
With an annoyed click of his tongue and a thumb that ruffles through the edges of the stack, Satoru finally cracks. “So, what exactly does this internship entail?” The grin Aizawa flashes him makes Satoru want to punch it off his face.
“A week minimum, but you can extend it as long as you want, or intern with different agencies. The goal is to find you long term mentors for the school year. If you hate it, you can drop it after a week and leave the hero course.”
Hm. A week… isn’t bad.
“Is this worth credits?”
“Of course.”
“How many? Will I get to take less classes?”
Aizawa rolls his eyes lightheartedly. “Depends on how much you do. But yes, I’ll ask Nezu about awarding you extra credits based on your performance.”
Satoru groans. It’s a very good deal, as befitting a prodigy such as himself, but it essentially locks him into the hero course if he continues on to next year. He’d very much like to run away from his responsibilities, goddamn it if they aren’t very tempting. Searching for any thread to latch onto and drag himself away from the precipice, Satoru begins skimming the stack in earnest with a very critical eye of every hero agency present. Seven names in, Satoru comes up short.
“Tsukauchi? The police detective?” he asks in disbelief. Last he checked, the guy was very much not a hero.
“Mm, I threw him in for variety, and because you’re already acquainted. Tsukauchi-san does extensive work in partnership with heroes on the investigative side of things. His internship will be a little less action packed, but it might be fun.”
Huh. Satoru’s never really tried investigation. The closest he’s got was showing up, looking at some energy signatures, and giving a definitive answer then and there. The thought is almost… exciting. Satoru shivers in fear of his own interest, and tells himself it’s a desire to bully the detective again.
But curse this stupid, middle-aged teacher with far too much experience under his belt. Aizawa keenly picks up on Satoru’s change of mood with eyes that might also be magical (quirk unrelated), and leans forward conspiratorially.
“I also heard they have donuts every day at the precinct.”
“Well, fuck. I’m in,” Satoru grumbles. This time, Aizawa doesn’t scold him.