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ninja-go-to-therapy · 1 year

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Dismantled Chapter 2

AO3

Went a little ham on this one I'm lowkey kinda proud of myself

Trigger Warnings: kidnapping, infantilization, muzzling, ableism, dehumanization, force-feeding, mentions of violence, mentions of puke, a touch of self-loathing, overall creepy vibes, creepy whumper, sensory overload, panic attack

3487 words

This. Fucking. Sucked .

He’d been stuck in this stupid bed, unable to move more than his neck, unable to make any comprehensible noise , unable to fight his way out of what he was dubbing literal hell . Who knows, maybe he had died and God had seen fit to punish him for eternity. Why? Well. He’d had more than enough time to compile a too-long list of reasons he could be damned.

Long story short, Donatello wasn’t exactly at the top of Santa’s nice list.

How long had it been since he’d been left alone in this awful, artificial room? Every second that ticked by (and of course, there was no clock to count by, and eventually the dead silence of the room had given way until all he could hear was the faint buzzing of the lights) led him into a deeper and deeper pit that his racing thoughts were carving into his skull. The longer he lay here, the harder it sounded to play along. He didn’t want to play along. He didn’t want to appease this mutant bitch (though, upon reflection, he was more likely a yokai). He wanted to wriggle his way out of this mound of blankets and bash his ugly face in .

It was probable that if this was hell, that was exactly why he was in here. God probably didn’t take too kindly to the ruthless violence that Donnie often itched to make good on.

Whatever. He wouldn’t be here long, not if his brothers were looking for him. And of course, they would be. Despite their squabbles, Donnie wasn’t emotionally constipated enough to believe that his family didn’t care about him.

…still, though. He didn’t have anything on him that could be tracked. He had to assume that all of his gear had been disposed of in some manner; this yokai clearly wasn’t stupid. And, while Leo had his ōdachi, he couldn’t exactly just point it at the sky and say take me to my brother!

He knew. He’d watched him try that with Mikey one time. It did not end well.

Ugh, thinking about this was going to lead him spiraling. It would be fine . His family was nothing if not unreasonably determined. He knew they would track him down. He just needed to sit tight until then.

But sitting tight was becoming more difficult by the second. The yokai had ditched him ages ago (had it been hours ago? How many hours?), leaving him muzzled like a dog and swaddle-trapped like a baby .

Part of him wished he could just fall asleep and maybe have a nice dream in which he wasn’t being held hostage by a psychopath, but a larger part of him was weary to let his guard down. He was already vulnerable enough. And if this yokai tried anything else, Donnie would rather be awake so he could at least attempt to fight back.

Or… eugh, play along. He was pretty sure he could actually feel bile crawling up his throat at that. Jesus, keep it down, Vomitello. The last thing he needed was to attempt to puke while having that leather monstrosity covering his mouth. Now that would be his genuine, personal hell.

Okay. Keep calm. Collect data. He’d taken in all there was to note about the room from the limited angles he was provided. The yokai himself didn’t give him much to go on, rather than the fact that he was fucking unhinged. And Donnie thought Draxum had been bad…

Right, okay. What had he been doing before getting snatched up like a toy at the top of a vending machine? The more he tried to remember, the more his head hurt. He better not have a concussion…

Still, it was possible that there was mystic shit involved. Maybe he had a curse on him, who was to say? This, right here, was exactly why he preferred to stick to science. It was explainable! It had clear rules! It was clearly superior to whatever power of friendship bullshit the Hidden City had going on.

On the bright side, while it was obvious that his captor wasn’t above using force, he didn’t think he’d go so far as to kill him. That was… something. Which, as his dad (his actual one, thank you very much) would say, was at least more than nothing . Honestly, after this ordeal, Donnie would almost rather accept Draxum as a father figure. Not that it was exactly an ideal alternative.

He shifted slightly, attempting to at least get comfortable in this god forsaken pile of blankets. The leather of the — urgh, muzzle — chafed against his face, and for the first time since the adrenaline had begun to wear off, he was acutely aware of just how uncomfortable it actually was. It was sensory hell . It irritated his face no matter what he did, and who knew when it would actually come off? You know what? He’d decided. This was some ableist bullshit.

It wasn’t exactly painful , per se, as much as it was just wrong against his skin.

It was awful. It was so, so awful. It hurt on some distant level, and he couldn’t do anything about it, not restrained as he was, it was too rough against his skin, too much, it was wrong , he couldn’t fucking do this . He inhaled sharply through his nose, mortified to find that he was suddenly choking up. He couldn’t breathe properly in this thing. He couldn’t — he couldn’t breathe , not when it cut off air to his mouth, not when every breath he took through his nose smelled so disgustingly strongly of leather . He couldn’t. He couldn’t, he couldn’t, he couldn’t he couldn’t he couldn’t . He thrashed desperately in his restraints, but, as predicted, he couldn’t escape. If the definition of insanity was to attempt the same thing over and over while expecting a different result, was he already going insane?

A low whine emitted from the back of his throat, making its way past the thick lump embedded there, panic and wrong and wrong and wrong clawing its way up. He wanted to go home. He wanted to fucking go home . It wasn’t fair. Why, why why was this happening to him ? Where were his brothers? Why weren’t they coming for him? Where were they where were they where where where where where was he?

These lights were too. Bright. Even if he closed his eyes it pierced straight through his eyelids, blinding him, mocking him. There was a stark, violent silence that swam around him, no buzz of machinery, no ticking of a clock, no far off antics of brothers. The material of these blankets was all wrong; everything was all wrong .

His heart was going too fast, like he was running for his life, like if he didn’t get out of here he would die . Blood was rushing past his ears, too loud, not loud enough, something was so horrifically wrong. Everything. Everything was wrong.

A muffled sob rose in his throat, and god, he wanted to go home. He wanted his brothers to come in here and — and he wanted Raph’s smashing, he wanted Mikey’s razzmatazz — he wanted Leo’s awful jokes while they beat the shit out of this guy. He wanted to go home. He wanted to go home right now .

Why him? Why him? What had he done to catch this sicko’s attention?

The tears that had begun rolling down his face made it all so much worse. They dripped until they reached their barrier, which dug into his skin too tightly for them to get past, which only reminded him how badly he wanted to scream obscenities, which—

His nose burned with unfulfilling, sporadic breaths. His lungs weren’t full enough, begging for more, begging to breathe right again. He sobbed, feeling like — like a rightful dumb-dumb for knowing help was on the way and still flipping out.

He slumped into the sheets, unaware until now just how tense his body had become. He was so exhausted. His eyes hurt. He wanted to go home . He wanted to fucking sleep .

He didn’t want to deal with this — these emotions. This overwhelmed state of being. He didn’t need this right now. Of all the times — fuck.

He stayed there for a long time. Of fucking course he did, it wasn’t like he could go anywhere. But he stayed slumped, now dried tear tracks irritating his cheeks, eyes burning and dry, fingers itching to fidget despite being trapped somewhere in a mass of fluff. He was angry. He was so, so incredibly angry about this entire situation, but he could only keep an active fire for oh so many hours at a time. How many hours had it been ? How long had he been missing? How long until his family saved him?

He couldn’t go down this rabbit hole again, he’d literally just —

A gentle knock on the door caught his attention, a nearly welcome reprieve from his racing thoughts. The door swung open easily, taunting him from where he lay. Why bother knocking at all?

The yokai entered slowly, hands raised in a mockery of surrender. He’d be surrendering when his brothers got ahold of him, that was for sure.

“Hey, kiddo,” he said as he approached, looking at him like he was trying to appease a wild animal. “How are you doing?”

Donnie stared at him blankly.

“I know, I know, you’re upset about earlier. I’m gonna take it off — but only if you behave. No more of those adult words, okay?”

Considering how he didn’t even give Donnie the chance to nod or anything, it was clearly more of a threat than an agreement. Wonderful.

He could feel every vulgarity he knew bubbling up from his literal soul , entirely intent on chewing him out for the few moments he would be allowed to speak. Playing along be damned, he was pissed off and he wanted to express it.

The leather came away from his face, releasing its cruel hold, and as fresh, cool air hit his face, his words died on his tongue. The effect was — well. It was instant. He breathed. For the first time in many, many hours, he breathed , nearly verbalizing his relief when his body didn’t whine in protest.

Fuck. He couldn’t take that again. He knew he couldn’t. He couldn’t…

“Feeling better?” The man prompted.

Donnie swallowed, his mouth dry and throat itching with it. He wanted to tell him off. He did . But the idea of experiencing that again made his skin crawl, like there were a million tiny oozesquitos underneath. He settled for the boldest statement he could muster without fear of being silenced again.

“Let me go.”

The yokai looked wounded, at first. Like he’d been shot right in the heart. Donnie would have felt satisfied if not for the discomfort swimming ever-presently in his chest. The man sighed, his mouth twisting into something sad, like Donnie just didn’t understand . He didn’t. He didn’t understand, and that bothered him to no end. What was the point of this stupid game ? What in the world could this stranger have to benefit from trying to be Donnie’s father ?

“Let you go?” He finally parroted, like he was a fool for even asking. Like he was a dog whining for chocolate. “You’re going to get hurt if I let you leave. You could die .”

Yeah. That was kind of the gig when it came to being a hero.

“It’s lucky I saved you when I did. If you’d been risking your life like that any longer — I could have been too late.”

He bristled, furious at this man for every syllable he spoke. “I’m fourteen,” he said, calm as he could. “I may not be an adult, but I have a responsibility to help people .”

“My responsibility is to help you! ” He snapped, “you’re just a kid, heck, you’re my kid, and you’re so vulnerable . That shell of yours… I won’t let you get hurt, Purple. Not ever.”

What in the Mother Gothel was this?

“You’re not my father.”

Donnie may not have been good with reading people’s faces, but this ? If looks could kill, he may as well have been six feet under already. The yokai took a deep, unsteady breath, before cutting through his rage with a carefully controlled calmness and a statement that contrasted every other word he’d spoken since Donnie had been given the displeasure of meeting him. “You know what? I’ll make you a deal. If you choose to leave, just walk right out the front door. And then fine , leave dear old dad heartbroken and missing his child every day for the rest of his life. Go through the door, and I won’t follow.”

The self referential use of dad only pissed Donnie off a little further. How had he even heard of him and his brothers? He certainly didn’t recognize him . And lord, he was so convinced that Donnie was his actual fucking kid , it was weird . It made his skin crawl .

He didn’t know what flavor of mental illness this was, but the dude needed therapy. And, preferably, a life sentence.

“I don’t suppose that I could simply tell you I don’t want to be here?” he asked.

“Well, if you’re really the big boy that you think you are, you could leave by yourself .”

Donnie didn’t bother mentioning the goddamn swaddle trap . It wasnt worth the energy.

Abruptly, his captor stood up, storming through the door and almost slamming it behind him. Donnie breathed a sigh of relief, thankful to be left alone again — this time without the thick muzzle strapped to his face. Never before had he appreciated the smell of nothing so much. Right, well, he wasn’t doing too well in the playing along and gaining trust department. The logical part of him really did want to, as it was the best plan he had, but he genuinely just couldn’t contain his absolute disgust for the situation. He was sort of notorious for being a god-awful actor, anyway. He wasn’t sure if he’d even be able to pull off playing along. It would be humiliating to even try .

Besides, he wouldn’t even need to go through the effort! His brothers would be here in like, three more hours, tops. They’d all go back to the lair, maybe grab some victory pizza at Run of the Mill, and Donnie could bury this entire experience deep into his don’t need to think about it box, where he kept his contempt for beach balls, as well as many other distressing memories.

“When I get home,” he said out loud to himself, just because he finally could, “I’m never calling Papa dad again.”

Ugh, dad . Who did he think he was? Donnie had a papa already, he had a whole family . Who was this nameless man to snatch him away from them like this? It was just cruel.

Not long later, another light knock sounded at the door. It swung open, the man carrying a bowl and looking almost a little guilty . Just, not I just kidnapped a whole ass teenager guilty, which didn’t give Donnie a whole lot of hope for whatever was about to go down.

“I’m sorry for losing my temper with you,” the man said, setting the bowl on the edge of the mattress. “I know you don’t mean to push my buttons, you just — you don’t understand yet. You’re just a kid.”

He was a teenager , thank you very much, jesus fucking christ —

“You must be so hungry.”

Okay, he’d bite his tongue again if it meant getting actual food . Like clockwork, his stomach growled (to which he felt a little guilty for not being able to assure poor Tummytello that they’d get to consume soon, but it was not on his list of priorities right now). For all he knew, this would come with some sort of catch.

The guy scooped something out of the bowl, moving the spoon closer to Donnie. On it was some… brown… sludge… stuff . Seriously, for someone who claimed to be a caretaker , he could have at least tried for something that didn’t look like goddamn prison food .

For a guy actively trying to find a catch, it took him an embarrassingly long time to realize that his arms were still entirely incapacitated, the spoon hovering inches in front of his face. Hell no, hell no, this was too much. After everything else, he was about to be spoon fed like a toothless little—

“Aren’t you hungry, Donnie?”

Whether meant to read like one or not, it came off as a threat. If he didn’t just accept his infantilizing fate, he’d continue to starve for who knew how long. And if he was forced into an infrequent, unfulfilling food intake, it could seriously fuck his body up long-term. He didn’t want to think long-term, he really didn’t. But the longer he was here, the more he was beginning to fear that it would take more than a day for his family to track him down.

Pushing past a grimace, he very, very slowly opened his mouth, closing his eyes so he could pretend this wasn’t fucking happening . But he needed to keep his strength up. He needed to.

Just pretend it’s Raph feeding you hot soup , he told himself. It was Raph, totally Raph, with what was totally soup — something cold and mushy landed on his tongue, reminiscent of what he had to assume dog food tasted like. On reflex, he gagged, spitting out the lump of whatever Satan himself had conjured falling unceremoniously onto his pile of blankets.

There was silence between the two of them for an uncomfortably long moment. Finally, when Donnie deduced he was supposed to explain himself or something, he shuddered a little, trying to pretend he couldn’t still taste it on his tongue despite the brief period it had been in his mouth.

“I can’t — I can’t eat that,” he said, hyperfocused on the yokai’s face for any sort of reaction.

“And why not?” It wasn’t angry. He didn’t think so, at least.

“The — the texture,” he mumbled, acutely and uncomfortably aware of the drool that had dribbled down his chin. His hands twitched from within their confines, and he shuddered, fearing he would once again succumb to a sensory overload. He took a stuttering breath. “And the taste, it — what the he— um, heck — is this?”

“It’s healthy ,” he replied, dodging the question. Now more than ever, Donnie was wary of the bowl of what was quickly rising in likelihood of just being straight up dog food or some shit. This officially scored among his list of top 5 worst days ever.

“Then get me a banana or something, not this fuckin…” Shit shit shit shit, he hadn’t meant to say that. He couldn’t take that fowl contraption again, not again. He needed to amend himself, quickly . “I mean, uh, I didn’t mean — sorry.”

The man watched him for a moment, then smiled. “You’re learning so fast,” he praised, like it was something to be proud of. He wasn’t proud. He wanted to lash out, to scream obscenities at this monster, but the way his skin prickled at the thought of it being forced over his face again rendered him silent. In some ways, it was like it hadn’t come off at all.

In an act of meaningless, mute spite, Donnie mentally went through every curse in every language he knew.

The man stood, patting Donnie’s cheek. He couldn’t help the flinch, the way every inch of him was screaming not to be touched by this man.

“I’ll get you something else to eat,” he said, and Donnie was struck with the very real possibility that this had been on purpose. Maybe real food was going to be some kind of reward . “But you have to use your manners, kiddo.”

Ugh, curse being right all the time. If it weren’t for the ache in his stomach and the absolute assurance that he’d be out of here in no time, he wouldn’t have even considered it. But he was hungry, and he needed to keep his strength up. He needed to choose his battles wisely.

“Please may I have some real food?” he asked, grateful for once that his default, neutral tone couldn’t easily be distinguished from when he was being sarcastic. Little victories, he supposed.

“We’ll get you something you won’t choke on,” the yokai agreed, smiling fondly down at him. “Maybe find some apple sauce.”

The door was left open, this time, as the man left for what would assumably be the kitchen. He’d turned out the door to the left, which, while it didn’t give Donnie a whole lot of a layout to work with, he could at least store away for later.

What was taking his brothers so long?

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aspenforest732 · 4 months

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Mortem ad Wrens Chapter 26: Someday We Will Discover

Summary:

tw: vomiting, abuse, flashback, intrusive thoughts, starved, vomiting, fear, memories of bodily harm, nightmares, intrusive thoughts, ed thoughts, child abuse, muzzling, abandonment, foster care, drugs, seizures, creepy adult, ableism Therapy, bit of Popmic, and training camp begins

Notes:

Summary of Chapter 25: Akira’s taken to a secondary location where the traffickers are holding other children for auction or experimentation. They’re put up for online auction, but the heroes raid the facility. Only one other child survives. Akira promises to let Fat Gum know if they know they’re going to be kidnapped, and they have dinner with the Yamazawas, Fat Gum, and Amajiki. MiriTama and ShinKami confirmed. ‘text’ JSL Text thoughts

‘Seeing them just reminded me of when I was younger,’ Akira leaned against the tree trunk on the lowest branch. Fortunately, the late July heat had let up enough to make being outside bearable for longer than a few minutes. Akira still had extra water bottles and their crutches against the tree.

“That must’ve been hard,” Inui murmured. “You were in a very difficult position, waiting for heroes while you couldn’t be there for them.”

Akira rolled their eyes but shrunk in on themself. ‘If I can’t save them, how can I…’ they put their head on their knees. They couldn’t exactly tell Inui their plan, but their family always seemed to haunt their sessions.

“We can’t be everywhere at once,” Inui pointed out gently. At Akira’s half-hearted glare, he smiled sadly. “Heroes save a lot of people, but the first ones you lose are the hardest. Working with the community, reaching out to their family members, and seeking out people you care about can help with the grieving process.”

‘I don’t want to burden them with this, though,’ Akira huffed in frustration and picked at the rough bark poking into their legs. ‘It’s not like I haven’t seen bodies before, much less children. That’s pretty common on the streets as much as we try to help each other.’

“Why do you think what happened is harder for you?”

Akira started to respond but paused, lightly worrying their bottom lip. ‘We take care of each other. Those kids had no one, and most of their injuries were old.’

“Do you think they had an unhealthy relationship with their caretakers?”

‘What do you mean?’ Akira peered at Inui from their tree branch.

Inui hummed thoughtfully. “We often compare ourselves to others, especially in familiar situations.”

Akira shook their head. ‘No, I mean… What would you call an unhealthy relationship? I feel like we’ve been working towards a baseline, but I still get caught off guard a lot.’

Inui nodded slowly and took a moment to collect his thoughts. “It depends on the type of relationship, but for this, we’re talking about a healthy parental figure relationship.”

Pulling from their previous sessions, Akira hesitantly replied, ‘So healthy aspects would be what, only harming each other as punishment and being responsible for each other?’

Inui frowned, “That’s a very low bar. Can you try setting it higher?”

Akira tensed before letting a shudder release some of the tension. Brow pinched in concentration, they tried to think of the snippets he’d shared against some of the “punishments” their family doled out, but most of what they talked about was coping mechanisms and clarifying what was abuse. Granted, the few acts Akira did let slip were some of the less severe methods the Wrens used.

When Akira didn’t respond for a few minutes, Inui gently continued, “Parental figures should never harm their charge, and they should be responsible for their charge. They should provide food, shelter, and education without the expectation of anything in return. Boundaries should be respected, and the charge should feel safe.”

Akira startled, blinking rapidly at the list. Searching Inui’s expression, they only found sincerity and a touch of sadness. ‘You’re saying… Eraser and Mic aren’t the exception outside of hero families?’

Akira jolted awake, bile rising in their throat. They hurriedly stumbled to the bathroom, emptying dinner into the toilet without bothering to turn the light on. After a few minutes, they winced at the light turning on then dimming as they caught a glimpse of Yamada in their peripheral. Too tired and sore to move away, they shuddered as the blonde gently tied their sweaty hair back.

“Hey little listener, I brought some water,” Yamada said softly. He handed them a glass before backing off to a more comfortable distance at their slight flinch. “I know you prefer Shou for this kind of thing, but he’s still on patrol right now. Is it okay if I sit here with you?”

Akira nodded, head pounding as they took a cautious sip. ‘Sorry,’ they signed with shaky hands. ‘You don’t have to stay, I’m fine.’

Yamada hesitated, concerned smile becoming uncertain. “Is that you asking me to leave, little listener? I don’t want to crowd you.”

Akira shook their head and leaned against the toilet, shifting slightly onto the pale blue shower mat as they forced some more water down.

“Okay. Was it something you ate?” Yamada asked after a moment. He slowly adjusted so his knees weren’t directly on the cold white tiles while Akira watched him like a hawk out of the corner of their eye.

‘Nightmare.’ When their stomach finally stopped trying to eject itself, Akira carefully stood and flushed. Shoulders tense, they passed Yamada’s relaxed but vigilant form to sit on the couch and pull the weighted blanket over themself. They winced as their left leg spasmed painfully, the compound fractures in the memory still lingering.

“Think you can handle some soup?” Yamada asked just loudly enough from the kitchen.

Y̷̢͖̘̥͙̜̳̼̮̗̯̱͒̔̅͂̇͒o̷̫̭̣̙̗̟̼̫̖̣͎̱̠̮̰͓̽́́̐̒͆̓́̾̈́̑̏̾̈́̚͜û̸͕͖͕̜̱͕͎̜̘̀͐ ̵̡̨̘̝̥̟̜͇̳͚̮̘̿̏̐̓͊͗̊̀̅͑̌̓́̊̅̚͜͜d̸͙̰͚̦͉̠̹̜̲͆̂͋͒͌͆̄̽͐̾͋͆̀o̷̡̭͎̠͕̳̩̟̺̽̿͆̿̍͜͝n̸̲̩̯͙̩͔̜̠̺̻̥̆͂̐͗͛̌̃̋̚’̵̫̘͕͕̮̲̺̭͔̟͌̊̀͌̀̂̀̄͑̔͌͐͠͠t̶̢̻͓͙̼͓̫̗̣̐̑̔̏ ̴̡͇͇̪͈͉̺̪́̇̏͝ď̶̹̻̣͍̤̺̹̖̖̘̣̥̩̉̈́͋̐̍́̔͂͐̋͝͝ȩ̸̤̩̞͍͕̝́́̌̀̐͝͠s̴̨̨̨̮̮̮̗̗̻͙̱̼̪̈̇̓̕͝ę̵̡̤̳̤̘̜̱̳̒͐̆̓̄̀͆̽̈͑̾̉̀̕͠ͅr̴̙͍̥̹̟̼̹̳̰̣̯͈̟̊̊̂̕͝v̸̮̪̘̠̤̗̮̤̺̱̏̽͒͊ͅe̶̪̘̻͙͕̊̈̉́̽̃͆̈́͑͊͆́̕͘ ̴̛̙̞̳̄ͅf̵̛̠͍̎͐̊̔̊̀͒̂͠ơ̵̧͎̯̙̙̖̞̹̮͔̠̳͚̤̐̈́̽͜͝͝ơ̷̧̟͙͎̬̣̜̺͒̀̀̋͐͑͝͝d̴̨̧̯̻͙̱̞̊̍̉,̸̢̧̥̱̩̰͎͕̎̎̊̂̈́̌̿̋͒̄ ̶̙̩̩̲̬̣͖͎̹̃͗̏͑͌́͆͘͝ (You don’t deserve food)

Akira shivered and gave a thumbs up despite their stomach doing flips. They flipped to the current day in their nutrition journal, wincing as they registered what their episode had cost. Akira noted the loss and left it open face down to update once they were done. They took the proffered leftover soup, letting it first warm their hands as they willed themself to eat.

O̴̡̢͈̠̻̲̬͎͓̹̹͕̭͗̿̈́̇̋̏͘͘͜ͅn̷̡̡͚̪̳̭̞̲͓̘͍̪̦͉͔͙̋́̓͆̈́͊l̵̼͖̤̀͜ͅy̴̞͍̋̊͒͜ͅ ̷̡̯̦̥̬̱͔̾̾̈́̈̃̈́͐̎̚͘͝͠ṫ̴̡̛̐̿̈́̅̃͝͠ḫ̴̨̼̩̘̝̘́͌̈̌͆́̃͐̉̑͆̕͝i̵̧̟̟̜̘̫̬͗n̷̬̟̟̠͓̫̋͒̊̕k̵͔̯̱̹͕̖̇̿̃̈́͗̀̅̓̒̍͌̍͘͝͠ ̷̲̖̠͙̠̺͚͓̻̣͇̻̟̻͔̍͌̈́o̵̢̭̮͈͂̀̇̋̈̓̓͋̿̓̂̾f̸̡̧̭͎͕̗̱͙͉̞̖̝̝̦̻͓̊̈́̀̀̓̚͠ ̸̡̤͔͍̘̭̥͚̎́̂̐ỵ̶̨̝̗̗̘͇̹̱̱͎͓̘͒̓́̒̓̾͗̂̽͂̃̓̽̉̇͠ò̴̡̨̖̥̥̝̦͕̹͚͕͍̘͓̜̦̾͋͌̉ū̵͓̑̐̎̅̌͐́̉̓̔͆̚r̵͈̠̗̓̅͌́͂̆̎͐̿́̀͛͘͜s̴̙͎̲̍̏̌̇̓͗͗̐̔̋̆̏̚ȅ̷̦̻̘̖̭̊͂͆͂̏̐͠l̷͉̚ḟ̶̭̥ (Only think of yourself)

“Mori? Are you alright?” Yamada hovered a meter away, concern lacing his features.

Akira nodded and glared at the soup for a moment before forcing themself to start eating. They swallowed thickly around the lump in their throat and tried to focus on the soft couch and comfortable weight of the blanket on their chest instead of the guilt churning in their gut. After a few spoonfuls, they signed, ‘Intrusive thoughts. Not your fault.’

Yamada settled into Aizawa’s armchair with a mug of tea and placed another near them on the coffee table. Akira held back a wince as they realized they were too stuck in their head to hear the kettle going off. After a few minutes, Yamada gently asked, “Do you want to talk about it?”

Akira continued forcing soup down for a moment before shrugging. ‘It was one of the tamer nightmares… I had a younger brother, but he wasn’t coping well with the abuse. Tried to sneak him food during one of the starvation tests, and obviously that didn’t go well.’

“One of?” Yamada squeaked, letting out a quiet curse as some of his tea spilled onto his lap.

Akira did a double take as they felt the waves of concern pouring off the hero who was now dabbing at the fabric. He immediately looked back up as they slowly signed, ‘One of the faster, although more difficult to time ways of triggering a Brute quirk.’ Akira carefully watched his reaction morph into shock then anger before Yamada tried to school his expression.

He took a breath as Akira cautiously set down their soup. “I’m mad at the people who did that, not you, little listener. Was it your family?” At their nod, Yamada ran a hand down his face. “Did you know I was in foster care growing up?”

Akira slowly shook their head in confusion and shifted to make room for Bastard as the cat opened his mouth to start yowling at them. The tuxedo jumped up onto their lap and gave the stink eye at Yamada.

The hero smiled slightly at the cat, not bothering to correct him this time. The smile fell as Yamada continued, “My parents went deaf shortly after I got my quirk, and since it’s one I have to actively suppress, I was forced to wear a muzzle in most of the homes.”

Akira’s eyebrows shot up and their hand stilled before signing in confusion, ‘But your quirk is perfect for hero work.’ Bastard lightly batted at their hand without his claws until they resumed petting him.

Yamada laughed bitterly, “If it was something I turned on instead of actively keeping off, maybe. But all they saw was a liability.” His expression softened as he focused back on Akira. “The point is I can understand how terrible people can be. Shou got it more from his peers, but we both want to be here for you.”

Akira nodded haltingly then frowned as they looked at a ping from Dabi. “August 7th. Wooded area.” Realizing that would be the third day of camp, Akira signed as much to Yamada, who grew more worried.

Friday night, an arms deal was almost complete under Akira’s watchful gaze when they spotted a familiar shadow enter the window. Catching Isao’s eyes, they signed ‘Eraser. I stall.’ With a nod from the muscle, Akira padded across the beams to intercept the hero. ‘Fancy seeing you here.’

Expression deceptively blank, the hero signed back, ‘We need to talk away from birds.’

Akira took a steadying breath and nodded, signing for him to stay while they made their way back into Isao’s line of sight and gave an all-clear. As the gangs dispersed, Akira swept once more for bugs before making their way back into the rafters. Tension burning throughout their body, Akira tried to put on an air of nonchalance. ‘Fat Gum gave you the brief if you know the code. What do you want to know?’

‘How much does Siren know?’ Aizawa bluntly asked, eyes searching their small frame in the darkness.

Akira blinked at the easy question. ‘I was abused, my quirk forcibly manifested, and I agree with aspects of Stain’s ideology. I’m trying to avoid putting more people in danger than necessary.’

Aizawa nodded slowly, face still closed off and impassive. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

Akira shot him a disbelieving look before signing, ‘You’re a mandated reporter, and I couldn’t be sure that underground heroes were safe. You being married to Mic was a red flag as much as him being married to you was a green flag. And I don’t want to put Siren in danger.’

‘Who can I bring in without informing them of the larger investigation?’

Akira hesitated before clarifying, ‘For intelligence gathering, scouting, protecting…’

Aizawa let out a small sigh, ‘Intel gathering. Nezu and Sir Nighteye are the best Japan has in the field outside the Wrens, and both have a distaste towards the family and the Commission.’

Akira shivered as they leaned against a support beam, shifting weight off their mostly healed leg. ‘Principal knows… something. I’ve been avoiding the stoat to put off further risk, and I haven’t died yet, so…’

Aizawa ducked into his capture scarf with a small, exasperated smile. ‘I can find out for you. Nezu will probably ask to see you.’

Akira lightly rapped their head against the beam before nodding. We’d need to find out eventually. If he hasn’t turned me in yet, maybe, just maybe he is on my side.

Monday morning, Akira woke to the odd smell of burnt bread and red bean paste. Confused, they saw it was only 04:30, a full hour before they needed to be up to catch the train to U.A. Akira rolled off the couch to see Dabi in the kitchen cursing at a sheet of taiyaki that were a little extra crispy. They laughed, stepping closer with heavy steps to avoid startling the man. ‘You okay?’

“Fine,” Dabi grumbled as he roughly used a spatula to scrape the treats off, “these were meant to be a surprise.”

Akira waved him off, plucking one off the tray and taking a cautious nibble. Steam erupted from the fish-shaped waffle, and they offered a smile. ‘Not bad. Just a little burnt on the outside. Thanks.’ Peeking around Dabi, Akira grinned at the two baked and one raw sheet of taiyaki on the counter. The former seemed to have fared better at least. ‘Might as well get ready since I’m up. Want some help?’

Akira grinned as Dabi called back no and continued grumbling over the waffles. They triple-checked their duffle bag and eventually decided to bring all their non-perishable snacks and ingredients. The pair had discussed at length the ever-growing chance they’d see each other on Wednesday but couldn’t justify raising an alarm beyond telling Yamada and Aizawa. More food would at least give Akira a better chance of surviving the rest of the League if it came to that.

‘And you’ll ping your location when you warp on site, right?’ Akira asked as they were halfway out the door.

“Yes, now go! You’re going to miss the train,” Dabi said, lightly shoving them out the door.

“Mori! It’s good to see you here this early,” Ida chopped. “Please store any large bags under the bus and take one small bag with you.”

Akira just gave a thumbs up and pulled their box of taiyaki out of their duffle before stowing it. ‘Would you like a taiyaki?’

“Of course, thank you!”

Akira handed one to Aizawa and two to Hitoshi – all three from the less burnt batches – with a wink to the latter before settling towards the middle of the bus in a window seat with their box and oversized smoothie tumbler Yamada insisted on getting them. They’d already had their smoothie for breakfast, but Akira didn’t want to be unprepared with all that could go wrong that week.

The rest of 1-A gradually filtered on, and Sato lit up as he noticed Akira munching on the waffles. He slipped into their row and asked, “Hey Mori, did you make those yourself?”

Startled, Akira shook their head and offered him one. ‘My roommate did.’

Sato grinned as he bit into one, “I love baking. Can you get me the recipe? I like to experiment.”

Akira slowly nodded, glancing at Fumikage as he and Koji sat across the aisle. ‘I also have several recipes from Fat Gum,’ they added haltingly and sent a few taiyaki over via Dark Shadow.

“That’s great! I’d love to get those, too. What’s your favorite to make? I like matcha pound cake.”

Akira leaned into the window a bit, eyes widening minutely as Sato gestured widely. At an encouraging smile from Koji, Akira started exchanging recipes with the boy. Occasionally, his smile faltered as they mentioned cheaper options for ingredients, but he had the tact not to comment.

As the bus headed into the mountains, Akira found themself distracted by the stunning view outside their window. The road climbed high above the trees, letting them see for miles around as Musutafu shrunk in the distance. After only an hour, the bus stopped, and Akira cast a concerned glance to Aizawa as they took in the heavily wooded area below the rest area. Class B’s bus had split off twenty minutes prior, and they weren’t there.

‘Is everything alright?’ they signed to Aizawa.

‘Make sure you have your food and meds,’ Aizawa simply replied. Akira peered up at him before double-checking their backpack.

Pixie-Bob and Mandalay burst from the other car, posing while a young boy scoffed in the background. As Midoriya went off on an excited muttering storm over their team, Pixie-bob rushed forward, claws extending. Akira immediately warped to Midoriya, shoving him out of the way as they ducked under her hand.

“18 at- huh?” Pixie-Bob vehemently insisted then caught herself as Aizawa dispelled Akira’s clone and she was met with the protective teen.

After a tense moment, Akira straightened and kept an eye on her as they led an embarrassed Midoriya back. Aizawa frowned slightly in confusion at Pixie-Bob, raising an eyebrow at Mandalay. They did not join the class greeting as Mandalay pointed out where they would be staying in the distance.

“It’s 9:30 a.m. right now. If you’re fast, maybe around noon?” Mandalay mused, tail twitching.

Casting an annoyed look at Aizawa, Akira sighed. That’s at least 6 hours on foot if they have obstacles. The rest of the class started panicking and rushing for the bus as Pixie-Bob started a feline wiggle.

“Kitties who don’t make it by 12:30 won’t get any lunch!”

“Sorry folks, but training camp…” Aizawa said, a twinge of amusement on his face as Pixie-Bob jumped between the students and the bus. “has already begun.” He met Akira’s eyes with a slight nod.

As an avalanche of dirt flew toward the group, Akira warped on top of the bus. The dirt avalanche seemed to provide enough stability from Pixie-Bob’s quirk to not cause injury, but they didn’t want to risk loose dirt behind the wave still tumbling them into its path.

“Since it’s private land, you can use your Quirks as you wish!” Mandalay continued to explain as Aizawa held out a hand for Akira.

“You can either go with the class or continue on the bus,” Aizawa offered blandly. “I trust you to know what you can handle in this heat.”

Akira slid down the front of the bus, a hand keeping their skirt from riding up. They took the proffered hand to get the rest of the way down and gave a sharp nod to Aizawa, ‘I’ll go with the group. Shouldn’t be a problem with what I packed, but for that distance, I’ll need my mobility aids. Open the undercarriage, please.’

“Hey, where’s Mori?” they distantly heard while half climbing into the undercarriage to get to their bag.

They quickly sent a message to the group chat, “warped onto bus. Will be down in minute.”

Capture scarf settled around their neck and crutches in place, they walked up to the edge of the rest stop and surveyed the nearly sheer cliff face. After a minute, they settled on a path and started warping down, focusing on where they were going instead of the forest below. Once down, they signed, ‘I will need a break in three hours to take meds and will likely need to stop a few more times due to the heat.’

Midoriya and Ida briskly nodded and started brainstorming attack patterns as a dirt and stone creature emerged from the woods. Surging forward, Akira used their capture scarf to pull it down and away from the group. Bakugo and Shoto swiftly blasted it to pieces before Midoriya landed the final blow.

As more creatures emerged, the group set up surveillance, distraction, control, and attack teams. Akira mostly ran distraction with their clones and warping while Hitoshi headed control with their ever-present capture weapon.

When the group was barely a third to the foot of the mountains, Akira signed for the group to stop as they sat on a stump and finished off their tumbler before taking their lunch dose. They polished off their last few taiyaki and noticed Yaoyorozu staring at them. ‘What?’

“How were you allowed to bring that much when we weren’t?” she asked bitterly.

‘Most of it was already in my backpack. The rest was part of grabbing what I needed to manage my quirk. I only stowed these because I was under the impression we were taking the bus the whole way.’ After a swig of water, Akira added, ‘I told you to keep snacks on you.’

Yaoyorozu huffed and stalked off to where Jiro was listening with Shoji. A few minutes later, Akira stood and the group moved on. Yaoyorozu wordlessly handed them a pair of blades a couple hours later as the attack group started running out of steam. Akira warily took the blades, testing their balance before handing over a strawberry jelly pouch to the girl’s apparent surprise. Over the next couple hours, they started to feel a strange burn compounding their aches somewhat like when they used their quirk too much after burning through their fat.

Wait, is this my quirk exhaustion? Akira startled with the realization. They kept up with their metabolism for the most part, so it wasn’t a buffer issue. In between monster sightings, they pulled out their quirk notebook and jotted down the symptoms to go over later.

When the group finally made it to base camp around 17:30, everyone was physically and quirk exhausted, dragging their feet and bearing scrapes and bruises from the numerous fights. Akira had burned through everything they’d brought for the day and had stopped actively using their quirk an hour prior. They stumbled into the clearing supporting Kaminari, who was in the midst of another absence seizure.

Got it, corrupt and ignorant, Akira thought bitterly as they listened to Pixie-Bob admit to boasting. Their eyes narrowed as she looked hungrily toward Ida, Midoriya, Bakugo, and Shoto. Akira passed Kaminari off to Fumikage just in time to see the hero rush at the group, and Akira warped into her side mid-air, harshly pushing her off course as Aizawa’s capture scarf lifted.

‘Back off,’ Akira glared as Pixie-Bob landed on her feet a few paces away. ‘You’re making everyone uncomfortable.’

“I just can’t wait to see where you’ll be in three years!” she cooed.

Akira stalked forward menacingly, capture scarf rising as Aizawa sharply called out, “Leave the kids alone.” As he stalked over to retrieve the heroine, Akira locked eyes with Aizawa and stood down at the fierce protectiveness.

“Whose k-kid is that?” Midoriya asked nervously while his fingers fidgeted. As Mandalay introduced Kota, Akira watched her partner like a hawk.

‘Why is she allowed anywhere near children?’ Akira spun on Aizawa as the others unloaded the bus and Pixie-Bob and Mandalay took Kota inside.

Aizawa frowned after the rescue heroes, “I will be speaking with her. I’ve never seen Pixie-Bob act like this, or I would’ve insisted on a different group.”

By dinner, Pixie-Bob seemed to calm down, although Akira kept an eye on her. Since Aizawa had prepared cold compresses for them in the time it took to get to camp, Akira had a few on their legs and chest held in place by their capture weapon.

“You normally wear the boy’s uniform, right Mori?” Sato asked in between mouthfuls of curry.

Akira nodded, ‘Pant uniform, yes. Less likely to get misgendered when I don’t wear traditionally feminine clothing. I’m only wearing the skirt uniform because of the heat.’

“I didn’t know you could get multiple uniforms,” Kaminari added as he sat down.

Akira smiled at them. ‘Good to see you recharged. Eraser-sensei told me the process when I last went to Nurse’s office. I can help you with it if you want.’

“What are you taking pills for?” Yaoyorozu added as Akira took their evening dose.

Akira scowled at them, ‘None of your business. Piss off.’

“Well, you take more food than anyone else, you’re taking unmarked pills, and you got special treatment while we got thrown off a cliff. What’s next, you pass the licensing exam just so they have a-”

“Yaoyorozu, enough. With me,” Aizawa said gruffly, making her go rigid.

“That, uh, that would be great,” Kaminari said as they walked off. “The second uniform process, I mean.”

“Me, too,” Jiro added, looking after Yaoyorozu in confusion.

Akira quietly slipped into the hot springs area wearing only their swim trunks and settled into the water. Kaminari and Midoriya, who had been talking animatedly by the entrance went quiet as they passed.

“Woah, Mori, is that like a tattoo or something?” Kaminari asked, padding after them.

‘Or something. It’s a scar.’

“That’s so manly!” Kirishima grinned. “Is it a cultural thing?”

Akira hesitantly shook their head, glancing at Hitoshi. ‘Not really, but I have heard of that.’

“Did you get it done somewhere special? The lines are so smooth,” Kaminari asked, reaching out.

Akira slid away from his hand as they tried to keep their breathing controlled.

“Hey, maybe they don’t want to-” Koji started softly.

“Oh yeah! I heard about that guy, what’s his… Carpenter! He’s that hero who brings masterpieces out of any material, right? It’s so rare he works with human canvases. His work looks kind of like that,” Midoriya babbled as Akira blanched and slipped further down in the water.

Hitoshi said, “Hey Midoriya?”

“Ye-”

“Shut up.” Hitoshi glared between Midoriya and the others, clearly daring them to say anything. After a moment, he released Midoriya who blushed, muttering a quick apology before going to sit with Ida. “Are you okay?”

Akira shook their head as their back spasmed. They stood after a moment, signing ‘alone’ before going back to the shared bedroom. Should’ve just worn a regular shirt when I saw I was missing my rash guard, Akira thought bitterly. Their scar burned and itched like they’d landed on a fire ant hill, so they used their long makeup brush to put a little scar cream on it. After a few seconds made it clear the effects were phantom pains, Akira settled for leaning against the grey wall while stroking their Bastard plush in their lap.

“Hey, why do you have a stuffed animal?”

Akira looked up, blinking as they noticed Kota enter the room. ‘Do you know what grounding means?’

“No,” the boy huffed, crossing his arms.

Akira resumed stroking Bastard, mulling over an explanation for a 5-year-old. ‘I have a lot of bad memories, and sometimes my thoughts get too loud because of them. Grounding can be different for everyone, but the idea is to remind yourself of where you are and what’s around you.’

“And the stuffed cat?” Kota looked confused.

‘Is something soft I associate with positive memories. I didn’t have him during the bad memories,’ Akira tried to explain. The kid still seemed a little confused but nodded. ‘Do you have bad memories?’

“My parents are dead.”

Akira winced. ‘Sorry? Did you watch them-’

“No, they were stupid, heroes like you idiots are trying to be with your corny powers.”

Setting Bastard aside, Akira motioned for Kota to come closer. ‘Heroes can be ignorant, mean, or contradictory. The good ones try to save people, and I think most of my classmates could be good heroes.’

“But you’re all just showing off, so you’ll end up dead like them!” Kota stormed up.

Akira’s breath hitched as they briefly saw Minori before they shook their head lightly. They took a deep breath before continuing, ‘Some are, and some will. I don’t blame you for disliking heroes; I don’t like them, either.’ At Kota’s bewildered look, Akira offered a small, bitter smile. ‘Most of my bad memories come from heroes, but there are a few I can now say I look up to. All of these kids have been through a lot, so just try to keep that in mind, okay?’

Kota seemed conflicted before turning and running out of the room. Akira shook their head and turned in for the night, back still on fire as they left the blanket off.

Notes:

Akira’s been going to therapy for three months now with a pause when summer break started. There isn’t the pressure of seeing him every day or interacting outside of sessions, so they feel a bit more comfortable. Kiddo’s still trying to grasp what baselines are supposed to be Gosh this arc came up fast and I’m trying not to cram growth but damn it’s hard. I was especially struggling with my hyperphantasia acting up as I tried to figure out what trauma to have Akira relive, so ended up not writing the dream sequence. I'm really looking forward to seeing y'all's reactions to the last few chapters as things heat up

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