Chapter 19: Oh, There's My Hairbrush
Monday, September 17th
1:58 am
Danielle Phantom smiled to herself as the cool static buzz of the Ghost Zone slipped away. Behind her, the ripple marking her passage through the Fenton Portal slowed, stopped and lapped back on itself like a video played in reverse, disappearing entirely when the waves met the center.
Forcing additional teeth to form in her mouth, she shot to the ceiling of the basement, through the house and up into the Ops Center as the metal gate closed behind her.
"Dani?"
The older halfa was awake. Of course he was. He'd probably woken the moment she'd entered his lair.
Lips stretching thin over wide rows of crowded fangs, she baited, "Hey, Clueless1."
"Okay, I hate this already." Danny's look of concern inched down, settling into a guarded frown even as his eyes tried to hide a desperate, clawing hope.
Had Dani learned shapeshifting just to annoy her brother with even more devilish grins than normal? Of course. Had he developed PTSD from said grins? Absolutely.
"I swear, if this is good news you've managed to make me anxious about, I'm gonna dunk you in the River of Revulsion and leave you with Klemper for a sleepover."
"Oh, don't worry." Dani twirled a lock of bright hair around a finger, looking at the metal rafters above oh-so-innocently. "Your worst fears were correct. Jazz was kidnapped."
"YOU FOUND JAZZ?!" Danny was up in her face in an instant, roughly grabbing at the black and white of her suit with near-bruising force.
"Ouch! Hey, chill out!" Punctuating the words, Dani shot a blast of icy air from her shoulders, the breeze whipping at the taller man's hair. Startling back as if he'd been burned, Danny looked at his hands in horror and shoved them into his armpits, clamping down hard with muscular biceps as his eyes skittered back and forth between himself and Dani.
"Oh jeeze. C'mon. You're taking the fun out of this," Dani whined, brows drawing together and eyes squinching at her original's antics. "It didn't actually hurt that much, I was just giving you crap."
"Dani."
Oof. Okay. That sounded even more broken than she'd expected. Ugh. Fiiiiine.
"Jazz is safe," the clone pronounced, voice only barely sulking like a petulant toddler. The ravenet sagged, his breath whooshing out with the strength of a holey bellows and Dani felt her lips pull up again. Just a little.
A second later, the man's eyes grew fierce as a new thought backlit them in green. "Who took her?"
Ah Hel. The smile was back.
"Someone you know very well."
"Who?" Danny grit out, severe look holding just a hint of hysteria.
"You did."
Monday, September 17th
7:27 am
"Don't forget your scarf!" Inko jogged out of the living area and into the hallway of her small apartment. Proffering a chevron-patterned knit like she was seconds from wrapping it around her guest's neck, the mousy woman pulled back at the last moment. Letting the soft weave hang loose in her hand instead, she kept it within easy reach of Jazz.
The redhead smiled and ignored the blush on her host's cheeks, graciously accepting the garment and securing it around the collar of the ultra-puffy, pink coat she already wore.
"Thank you, Inko-san. Don't forget I won't be gone thatlong. I'll be back well before our first session, don't worry."
Looking at the floor, Inko bobbed her head then raised her eyes to deliver, "Itterasshai!" with a wobbly smile. Jazz had only a second to wonder what it meant before her phone confused her even further: "Come and go!"
Suppressing an urge to turn her own smile into something more amused than touched, she answered, "l'll see you later!", relatively sure it was the correct response.
Offering a wave, Jazz finished switching from house slippers to shoes and pushed out the door. Traveling down a hall and stairwell the girl exited out toward the street, pulling out a map as she went and shedding her scarf like winter fur, already cooked from her host's well-meant get-up.
Okay, yesterday had been a bust in the search for Lunch Lady. But at least she'd managed to check some possible haunts off her list.
It was definitely going to take a while to find the combative woman. After causing trouble at UA, she'd gone to ground. Which wasn't that surprising, really, considering what Jazz had read about the fight. But knowing the ghost was hiding out somewhere food-themed in a well-populated area meant she'd be almost impossible to find until she stirred up trouble again.
Still, Jazz had to try.
Monday, September 17th
9:30 am
A several note bell rang in the classroom, sending Tenya Iida to his feet. Quickly gathering his things into a blue and black satchel, he bowed to Cementoss-sensei and offered a word of thanks for an enlightening instruction on the Battle of Sekigahara. Slinging the bag over a shoulder, the boy power-walked toward the door, Mina Ashido hot on his heels.
She may have been hurrying so she'd have time to gossip before their next class, but Tenya was rushing because the speedster made it a point to never be late.
All of three minutes later (a time achieved without running in the halls), Tenya was sliding back the door to another classroom and shuffling inside.
Normally, Yamada-sensei would come to them, but it was one of those rare English lessons where UA brought native speakers in to help with pronunciation. And with lockdown still going strong, that consisted of two security personnel taking a break between rounds.
Sparing a bow for a sour-faced redhead whose arms crossed beneath a camo-colored cape and a woman with elaborate plaits of golden hair that were, quite frankly, the sturdiest thing about her, he took his seat.
From Tenya's satchel came yesterday's homework; and, after a quick double check—that proved his name and the date properly adorned the corner—he slid it up toward the top of his desk. Satisfied, he also grabbed out his English notebook and flipped it open, then aligned his pencil (and a spare) exactly parallel to the edge of the desk. During this, the first of the other 1A students began to trickle into the room.
Six minutes until class started.
Okay, now he could look at his phone.
The first thing the teen did was check messages from his brother. Tensei had promised to pass on any news he found related to Hagakure.
While the hero Ingenium had been forced to retire following the Stain incident, the man behind the armor had retained his job as head of Team Idaten. Even staying out of fieldwork, Tensei's exemplary logistic and coordination skills were priceless.
Extracting a promise like that from his brother gave Tenya indirect access to dozens of sidekick teams working on all manner of things throughout the area.
It was almost perfect.
Except.
They hadn't seen anything.
Most of the calls recently had been about rescue operations, breaking up fights, muggings, store robberies and the like. Day to day stuff. None of which sounded even remotely connected to the green Nomu or Hagakure.
With a sigh, Tenya looked back down at his phone. Maybe the group chat had more to offer. Everyone had been on the lookout for clues, after all.
Scrolling down to the bottom past Kaminari and Sero's latest meme war, Tenya texted:
Tensei just checked in. Nothing new yet today. How's everyone else doing?
Mom
I'm afraid I have nothing to report. My household staff haven't encountered anything worth sharing.
Dr. Doolittle
No luck here, either. None of my pigeon friends have seen Hagakure and the rats haven't seen or smelled her since she went missing.
Plus they both refuse to track the Nomu. They're terrified of it.
Mom
Hmm. Maybe we can use that to our advantage. See if you can't pinpoint where they're avoiding. It might give us a clue.
Dr. Doolittle
Oh! Good idea. Though I'll probably have to barter this time. Pigeons are nice, but they're kind of slow…Does anyone have any eggs I could scramble for the crows?
Denkichu
Ill help scramble if u want, but dont have eggs in the fridge. Mido does tho
Tenya looked up with a frown, surveying the classroom. Kaminari wasn't even here and he thought he had time to text? English was about to begin!
Just starting to type out a reprimand, Iida stopped when a new message popped up, quick as lightning.
Pinkie Puff Pastry
oooo, Kaminari. ur in for it now. class rep just noticed u missing
Denkichu
crap! B there in a sec. Right outside. promies.
Sure enough, the door slid open not a moment later and the frazzled electric user tumbled into the classroom, out of breath.
"I certainly hope you weren't running in the halls, Kaminari-kun," Tenya commented, harsh tone causing the blonde to flinch.
A light buzzing drew Tenya's gaze back to his hand.
Agent Bubbles
Don't be too hard on him, Iida-kun. At least he's not late.
Sparing a narrow-eyed look at Denki as the other boy dropped into his seat just three minutes before the bell, Tenya pushed his glasses up with a sigh and rubbed the bridge of his nose.
Punk Rock Princess
Yeah, that's pretty impressive 4 Jamming-yay. But hey quick before class starts, anyone find anything else?
Denkichu
hey!
Koel-Headed
There have been no disturbances in the occult forums I frequent. Though there may be a bake-danuki running loose.
Cherry Vanilla Snow Cone
Why do you say that? Are people waking up bald?
Pinkie Puff Pastry
What? Where did you get that idea?!
Cherry Vanilla Snow Cone
…Haven't you heard the story of Bozu Bridge?
Koel-Headed
No, this isn't like that. Something's going around stealing small objects. Particularly things of little to no value.
Mom
That just sounds like a kid pulling a prank, to me.
Koel-Headed
It does. But sometimes, odd things are left behind.
Denkichu
Still sounds like a kid. i wouldnt put 2 much stock in that 1 Tokoyami-kun
Tenya looked up, gaze tracking over to Midoriya, who'd been surprisingly quiet throughout the conversation. His friend didn't notice his attention, round face fixed in an expression fit for a bathroom as his eyes regarded Uraraka nervously.
That was strange. Maybe Tenya should—
The passing bell and Present Mic's "OOOKAAAAAY, LET'S GET THIS PARTY STAAAARTED!" drowned out Iida's thoughts, forcing him to focus forward.
Oh well. He'd have to ask after Izuku later. It was more important that he maintain his faculties during class.
Monday, September 17th
9:38 am
Izuku did his best not to grimace down at the phone in his hand. As much as he wanted to participate in the group chat, how could he? He'd told All Might that he wouldn't spill anything his mentor had told him—like how Koda-kun wasn't likely to find any animals willing to track someone made of ectoplasm—and he'd told Ojiro-kun much the same—apparently, the teen's silence was a condition Hound Dog had set for hushing up their midnight frolic.
Any info not gained by insider knowledge he could share. But between the two promises, that was almost non-existent.
His normal haunts, Yap! news and several online hero forums, had netted a couple far-fetched rumors and little else. Like how the League had managed to recruit the yakuza to their side. (Izuku seriously doubted that Shigaraki had that kind of clout.) Or how Fat Gum had temporarily lost his quirk during a fight with some street thugs (something that important would have been plastered everywhere). So it was no wonder he struggled to come up with anything to say. His mind just wouldn't stop cycling through things he couldn't talk about.
Oh yeah. And that was another thing.
Ojiro-kun's latest ploy.
When the older boy had actually tried to bribe someonefrom Mygeto Junior High into investigating things off-campus, he'd been stonewalled. But faced with the roadblock, he had swerved, posting a want ad on NextWard instead.
That, in itself, wouldn't have been too bad, since the app was admittedly safer than most classifieds—its main focus being neighborhood communication—but it still churned Izuku's stomach. Because Ojiro hadn't just requestedinformation regarding Lunch Lady or the Detnerat break in, he'd offered a reward for it.
Yeah, maybe the desperate teen would get lucky and score something that wasn't total garbage, but he was way more likely to get scammers flooding his DMs.
Imagining an impoverished Ojiro, crushed by false hope and burnt out on fake leads, Izuku tried not to have a stress-induced stroke. Shaking his head to clear it, the greenet looked up and noticed a pair of bright brown eyes intensely focused on his face.
J-just how l-long had Uraraka been watching?!
Flushing bright red in panic, Izuku sent the zero-gravity girl a forced, wobbly smile and mouthed, I'm fine.
He was fine.
This was fine.
He was totally not thinking about a bunch of forbidden, secret knowledge that he should know nothing about.
Monday, September 17th
11:13 am
"Did you find it?!" A muffled voice—that most certainly did not turn Kamada's insides to anxious mush—called from beneath the Fenton's living room coffee table.
"No!" responded shortly after from somewhere on the second floor.
Realizing that the silence stretched too long Haru forced out her own, "Not here, either," as she peeked inside every single yellow cabinet the kitchen had to offer. Closing the final one softly, and knowing that she couldn't put it off any longer, the Shiketsu teen walked back out into the living room.
"I just don't get it! I had it in my bag before I left for school. I swear I did."
Danny was currently laying on the floor, one arm stretched far under the couch as he felt around for a missing textbook. The muscles in the hero's back flexed from maintaining the awkward angle and Kamada found her eyes glued in place.
She wanted to look away so bad she felt ill. But all she could see was Phantom's black jumpsuit in place of the white tee actually covering his skin.
Footsteps suddenly echoed from the hall above, along with "I don't know, Danny-san, maybe we should check the lab."
The sound was just enough to break the spell bewitching Kamada's eyes and she tore her gaze away, a blush storming up her neck and capturing every square centimeter of her head in a mortified wave.
And just in time, too, because Danny inchwormed backward not a moment later, withdrawing from the couch with some kind of miniature Fenton gadget clutched in one hand.
…Or was it? Haru didn't recognize that design and she'd at least seen schematics for most of the family's inventions at this point.
This one almost looked like a taser? But not the kind Maddie-san had in her suit. It was too boxy and quite a bit larger.
Danny's face grew stormy, blue eyes eaten by fiery green as he pocketed the device.
The support student froze, then pivoted around so fast the bruise of her leg ached. "HAGAKURE-CHAN!"
"WHAT?!" The other girl nearly tripped on the stairs as a small thump sounded behind Haru.
"I—You! We need to check the Ops Center! That's where Danny-san's been sleeping! I bet it's up there!"
"Jeeze, Kamada-san. You scared me half to death!"
"Ditto," croaked at Haru's back, so quiet it clearly wasn't meant to be heard, before louder, "I checked there first. I didn't see it. But I might just have to go to class without it. It's getting late."
Booo deee boooop. Boo doop de doop. Booo dee boooop.
The sound drew Kamada's eyes back around and she watched Danny fumble in his pocket—the one without the taser in it—for his cell. The cracked screen pulsated in shades of blue as it withdrew from the fabric for only a second before Danny answered the Skype call.
Danno! Jack's voice erupted from the speakers as the buffering symbol on the display was soon replaced by the Fenton parents' faces. Glad we caught you! We have news!
"News?!" Toru yelled, barreling the final steps down the stairs and across the living room in record time, shoving herself into the camera's view and by proxy Danny's side.
Haru was jealous of the ease in which Hagakure interacted with Danny. If only she could go back to being that naive. Not knowing really was Buddha.
Hi, Hagakure-chan! Maddie chirruped upon seeing the empty jumpsuit nearly bowl her son over.
That greeting sure was bubbly for someone missing a child. This must be some news.
I didn't realize Danny would be home when we called! What great timing! Although… The mother's brows furrowed and she inspected her son's abashed look through the screen. Why are you home?
"I—uh—I forgot my textbook for Biochem. I had to stop by to grab it." Somehow, Danny's anxiety seemed even moreacute at the admission.
Kamada felt her own eyebrows draw together but quickly smoothed them out when Jack barged into the tense moment, unable to contain himself any longer, You know how we were having problems with the girl's dimension not being close enough?
"Yeah…." Danny's eyes widened and both he and his fuchsia-HAZMAT growth subconsciously leaned closer to the screen, forcing Kamada to step toward the other two or risk losing sight of the splintered video.
Well, we know what's stopping us from getting to non-neighboring dimensions now! Jack declared proudly, squeezing his wife to his side in admiration like a hard-won trophy. Adrian and Mads figured it out while it was my turn to nap!
We were looking at it all wrong, the other scientist explained. We forgot to account for time dilation and length contraction! The further a dimension is from us, the more skewed our perception of it is going to be. That's why close dimensions are so much easier to link to! If we can figure out just how fast the wormhole is traveling in relation to the speed of light near the target dimension, and what our relative position is, we should be able to make a connection and refine where our endpoint is after the fact! Well, assuming we can generate enough power to do it…
Picking up where Maddie left off, Jack declared, It'll take about a million megawatthours of electricity to establish the wormhole initially, but we can worry about that later!
Kamada hit at her chest and sputtered.
As Danny side-eyed her questioningly, his mom added, Still, we're making progress! Oh, and Danny Sweetie, don't forget to pick us up tomorrow morning. Our flight comes in at 9:45.
"But that's—That's more energy than a nuclear power plant makes a month!" Kamada finally coughed out.
Nope! That's more than a nuclear power plant makes in several months! Jack corrected exuberantly.
Monday, September 17th
6:15 pm
Jazz felt bad.
Yeah, Inko had specifically asked for this, but the poor lady was laid out on the couch looking like a geriatric Pilates instructor post-slipped-disc. Apparently the librarian had been expecting martial arts routines right off the bat. But that was most definitely not what the older woman needed.
Nutrition and exercise were. There was no way she'd be able to win anything resembling a fight until she got in better shape. Even with all the knowledge in the world, if she wasn't flexible or didn't have enough muscle supporting certain joints, she was bound to end up hurt.
Still, remembering Inko's look during just the explanation of the triangle stretch, Jazz winced. She'd been raised by a ninth degree black belt. Her idea of what constituted "normal" was more than a little skewed. She just had to keep reminding herself that Inko was the average, Japanese equivalent of a soccer mom.
Poor thing.
Ladling spoonfuls of piping hot broth loaded with slices of shiitake, napa cabbage, daikon radish and some kind of white fish into two, heavy ceramic bowls, Jazz mentally reviewed nutrition and exercise plans for the next few days. She hadn't actually pushed very hard, but it seemed that Inko was worse off than she thought.
Maybe tomorrow should be light warm ups, stretches, quirk practice and how to recognize danger. It'd be fun to see the telekinetic's power in action. But more than that, Jazz really needed to change Inko's perception of danger. The mother's instincts were all backwards.
The perfect example of that being right now.
They had to leave soon because, according to Inko, there was nothing wrong with letting a stranger mentor a kid from UA.
Jazz had to hold back a facepalm just thinking about it.
Did Inko really not consider that Jazz could be from the League of Villains?!
That she could kidnap or endanger the teen she was meant to help?
For that matter, how had Inko even convinced Nezu to let Jazz on campus during an unprecedented lockdown of the school? Jazz had zero paperwork. Zero.
The only reason she could even imagine the principal accepting the request was if he suspected her interdimensional origins and this was a trap.
Confusion and cynicism bleeding equal parts through her mind, Jazz called, "C'mon Inko, dinner! We have to head out soon or we're going to be late."
When nothing but a pathetic groan answered, Jazz felt her doubt drain, leaving only raw confusion behind.
Monday, September 17th
6:47 pm
Katsuki Bakugo seethed as his mother and art history teacher led him across an expanse of paved pathway, only the bright beam of a flashlight and the smooth surface below their feet keeping them from stumbling in the dark. Purposefully striding past UA's main instructional building and closer to the front security gates, the trio slowed, turning to the side to approach a new building.
He couldn't believe they were making him do more of this shit. He was already stuck seeing the school's sunshine-shmuck every day to talk about his feelings—which he most certainly bullshitted through every time. So why were they making him meet some extra that Auntie Mido knew?
A glint of red caught Katsuki's gaze in the dimness and he held his mom's stare in defiance before scoffing away a few seconds later. His attention instead found its way to the light spilling from a set of double-hung windows in front of him, beckoning the group toward the school's visitor office. Dropping his eyes back down to preserve his night vision, Katsuki kicked at a rock and stalked past his escort with all the huff of a cat that'd just fallen in a bath. Throwing open the arched door hard, he swaggered inside, ignoring the blue chips of fresh paint that fluttered to the floor on his left.
Midnight rushed to squeeze in behind, probably worried about leaving a student alone for even a second with a stranger.
Sparing a glare over his shoulder that caused his teacher's well-endowed body parts to extricate themselves from where they squished against his shoulder, Katsuki's head swung back around.
Bubbling hot slag met the crisp calm of an aquamarine lake.
"What the hell are you looking at?!"Katsuki challenged, taking several menacing steps forward. He did not like that look. He felt exposed.
Only the pulse of overheated blood kept the teen from flinching when his own words parroted back at him inEnglish from the table. Kami, he was really starting to hate that language.
A million thoughts seemed to flit behind the ginger's eyes before him, until something settled in her gaze that Bakugo liked even less than the bone-deep knowledge he couldn't escape.
Prep.
"No need to be like that!" The woman chirped from her waiting room chair, positively oozing fake happiness as she clasped a pair of dainty hands near her chest. Behind him, footsteps approached, but Katsuki ignored them in favor of watching Inko's reaction to the words. From her own spot nearby, the feeble-hearted woman was side-eyeing the stranger incredulously. "This session will be over before you know it if you just give me a chance!"
Leaning forward, the extra held out a hand to shake, a little bracelet full of odd charms tinkling against each other on her wrist. "My name is Jasmine Smith, but you can call me Jazz."
Mitsuki's soft hand alighted on Katsuki's shoulder and squeezed, pressure firm. Kastuki spared a searing glare to the side before turning back to the American, refusing to take even a single step forward.
Pulling her hand back toward herself and out of the ignored greeting, Jazz used it to grab the collar of her lavender tee, flapping the knit fabric to create a breeze on her neck. "Inko-san. Can you and Bakugo-san grab us some drinks? It's getting rather warm in here with all the extra body heat."
"Oh—Uhm, sure!" Inko fretted, pushing to her feet and catching Mitsuki's gaze. At a slight purse of the greenette's lips and the barest of nods, his mom echoed, "Yeah, we can do that. But the nearest vending machines are even further than the convenience store, so it'll take a while."
The fuck it would.
The fiery teen turned sharply toward the two mothers as they breezed—well, not Auntie Mido, she was walking a bit awkwardly—by Midnight on the way to the door.
There were vending machines just inside the main school building and his mom'd gotten a fucking Cola-Coca from one yesterday.
"Hey! You can't just—" Katsuki's protest died when Mitsuki's gaze pinned him down.
She wasn't just angry. She was scared.
For him.
Which just pissed him off more. "You know what? Fine! Fuck off then, Old Hag!"
"What the fuck did you just say to me?! Watch your goddamn language!" The older blonde stormed back, swinging a fist at his head.
Katsuki dodged, smirking wide at his mom's increased offense.
There, that was better.
Throwing both hands up, then musing her hair in stiff, jerky motions, Mitsuki turned on her heel and stomped out of the building. Inko raised a hand when the other woman passed as if to soothe the hothead blonde, before her palm stopped shy and she instead ghosted into the chill night after.
Suddenly, only Katsuki, Midnight and the Kanna Hashimoto wannabe occupied this too-small room, the undecorated walls of the new construction creating a sterile environment that buzzed at Katsuki's already frayed nerves.
"So." The foreigner's tone was bland, pregnant with boredom. "I've been told you need some help. But I'm gonna be honest with you. I have no idea why. Nobody's told me Jack about what's going on and you'll have to fill me in on something,because I really don't wanna waste my time here if you aren't ready."
This time, Bakugo didn't even wait for the translator to finish its spiel, taking a step forward in a small wreath of explosions and slipping straight into accented English, "Did you just fucking call me a WASTE OF TIME?!"
"Bakugo-kun," Midnight warned, nervously slipping a finger up her sleeve. Katsuki refrained from moving any closer, violence twitching through his muscles.
A bone-aching tiredness stared back at him from the twin pools that were Jazz's irises. "Don't pretend that you don't know exactly what I said. I can see you're smart. Brilliant probably. But we both know that this talk isn't going to help you one bit unless you want it to."
Bakugo felt his lip curl even further up his face than its standard location. If he didn't stop it soon, it was going to overtake his nose and shoot straight past his eyebrows.
"I never said I wanted it to," he bit out, watching bitterly as the American regarded him, then stood and brushed her legs off as if the pristine chair had somehow transferred dust.
"Okay."
Bakugo's face pinched and his sneer dropped in confusion when she moved to the room's single, multi-person bench several seats down. Alighting on the furniture, she tilted and pulled in her knees until as much of her body was curled up on the pseudo-sofa as she could fit.
"What are you doing…?"
"What does it look like?" She didn't even spare a glance while she got as comfortable as the stiff springs would allow, laying the crook of an arm over a yawning face. "I'm taking a nap."
What an absolute fucking worthless extra! He couldn't believe he'd been wary of her for even a second.
"The fuck? That's it then? You're just gonna sleep till Mom gets back?"
"That's it." Jazz waved the hand not covering her face in his general direction. "Now can you keep it down?"
Bakugo looked back at Midnight. The hero shrugged, no longer tense, but just as perplexed as Katsuki felt.
This was definitely a ruse. She was baiting him. Trying to make him talk with reverse psychology or some bullshit. That fucking bitch.
He would not play her game.
Bakugo plopped down on a different chair far from the ginger, lips sealed.
Crossing his arms, he waited in silence, the minutes ticking by. A minuscule whimper disturbed the air from the bench and he allowed himself a vicious grin. Pretending to sleep was finally getting to her. It wouldn't take long before she would crack and admit she was awake.
He'd win this game of wills, easy.
Another cry escaped, this one escalating to a light keen and the arm shielding Jazz's face fell away, revealing eyes that were still very much closed and panning back and forth rapidly beneath their lids.
The anger swept from Katsuki's sails, dying like a breeze.
No fucking way.
Then gusted forth with the strength of a tornado, throwing him forward, to his feet and over the coffee table.
He grabbed at the offending woman's shoulder and started to shake, pissed that she would dare to actually fall asleep on him.
"Get up you—"
Katsuki was suddenly falling, the ceiling and terrified face of his supposed savior the only thing in his vision as she backpedaled away from her own Knee Wheel throw. WHAT THE FUCK!? Sending a blast of nitroglycerin from his back, Katsuki rocketed out of his limbo stance and back to standing, arms raised and ready to engage. At his eight o'clock, Midnight launched closer, the sweet smell of sun-warmed strawberries and vanilla starting to fill the room.
Only, Jazz wasn't attacking. She was looking right at him in her own shivering stance, but her gaze was vacant and her breath came in small, labored puffs. "No, Danny. Don't!"
Blinking hard and swaying slightly, Bakugo held up a hand in the universal sign for "stop". Surprisingly enough, his teacher acquiesced. Stalling just to Katsuki's left, Midnight frowned dubiously but re-covered her exposed arm with the white sleeve of her costume.
Lighting up the sweat of his palms to clear the grogginess brought on by her quirk, Bakugo had to steel himself when the raucous blasts sent Jazz screeching and flailing back. Legs tangling in her panic, the American landed with a heavy thump on the floor before pulling her palms over her eyes and bawling in great heaving hiccups.
Well fuck.
Feeling more than a little uncomfortable, Katsuki bellowed, "I said get up, you lazy ass! You aren't wherever the hell you think you are. It's six-thirty at night on a fucking Monday, and you fell asleep in a goddamn waiting room. Now you're sitting on some stiff-ass industrial carpet because your string-bean legs couldn't hold you up after a nightmare scared you to your feet."
The hiccups slowed and the hands lowered incrementally. Then dropped completely to rub along the cheap carpet fibers in verification.
After a heavy sniff and a wipe of the sleeve, those glistening aqua eyes found his own crimson once again. But this time they were so unsure and incredibly fragile.
He couldn't stand it. It was like looking in a fucking mirror.
"This is why I can't stand people like you, you know that? You're making an ass of yourself. You came here to help me, so quit trying to make this all about you."
The fog edged from her expression slowly, gradually replaced by clarity as the words suffused into her consciousness. Gaze sharpening in question a moment later, she asked, "You sure?"
Tch.
Jazz slowly unfolded herself from the fetal position so she could stand and take in a shaky breath. "Okay, yeah. Sorry for the setback." Set back? A full-blown panic attack was a set-back? This girl was more fucked up than Katsuki was.
The foreigner's posture straightened and firmed, morphing her back into the calm, collected individual that'd originally occupied the room.
Perching on the bench again, Jazz nodded at Midnight. The older woman sighed and pulled Bakugo down into a seat next to her, refusing to give them the illusion of their own space any longer.
"Ah-hem." Jazz cleared her throat, and Katsuki's eyes snapped back to her. "So, why do you need my help? I can tell you get angry easily, but you seem to have a good head on your shoulders. Otherwise you would have attacked me right away—sorry about that, by the way. I was…reactive. I didn't mean to hurt you."
"Pshh. Like you could."
"Maybe not. But something did hurt you, no? Recently? I know some kids got attacked on campus from the newspaper, but that's more or less it."
"We weren't just attacked," Katsuki snapped. "One of my classmates was kidnapped."
Jazz's mouth dropped into a little "o", and she breathed, "You're Katsuki Bakugo."
"No shit, Sherlock." Then a thought wormed its way into his head and he exclaimed, "Wait, you came to this session without even knowing my name?"
"Inko-san asked me to help her friend's kid, and I owe her a big favor, so I agreed. I had no idea you were that Katsuki-kun."
"Yeah," his tone challenged. "You got a problem with that?"
"No, of course not." Jazz's features sank into contemplation, not even acknowledging him as she turned inward. "Things just make a lot more sense, is all."
The quiet stretched, and Jazz nudged, "So…you were kidnapped, saved" —nobody saved him, he rescued himself— "and as soon as you got back, another kid went missing instead. Am I getting that right?"
"I saved myself," Katsuki said flatly, then spat, "I'm not useless like Empty Clothes."
"Empty clothes…?"
"My classmate. The invisible extra that got herself taken."
"Oh. Uhhhhmm. Toru Hagakure-chan, right?"
"Chan?"
Bakugo's eyes narrowed and Jazz responded, "Is something wrong?"
"No."
Stupid Americans. Couldn't even understand how to use a suffix properly.
"So, you feel like you should have been able to prevent Hagakure-chan's kidnapping? Because you went through it yourself?"
"I didn't say that," Katsuki defended.
"You didn't have to." And that stare was back. The one that knew too much. Left him sweating and chilled at the same time. Then it was gone, replaced by gentle understanding.
This wasn't like a session with the sunshine-schmuck. Somehow, he knew that the nightmares of the person across from him were very similar to his own.
"So. This is a matter of guilt. But it's more than that. You don't want an empty reassurance of how you did everything you could. That fate has its own role to play and things will turn out fine. You're the kind of person who wakes up each day ready to take a swing at destiny. Moving on means you've admitted to failure and having someone tell you to wait for a solution is poison to your soul." Jazz leaned back in her chair, stretching toward the ceiling with her arms until a small pop sounded in her back. "My brother's a lot like you, in some ways."
Bakugo's stomach prickled with unease and he forced himself to be quiet, struggling not to release a torrent of curses at the girl's assumptions. Instead, he growled, "It's not just guilt. I had her. The green bitch. I was so close to getting answers and she got away." Furious, he clutched hard at the armrest next to him until it creaked and his voice cracked under the strain of his next words, "And I swear she came back just to toy with me."
Jazz made a thoughtful sound in the back of her throat.
That got the hero-in-training's attention and his mind honed in on her next words.
"Normally, I would recommend regular sessions with me in which we practice meditation and grounding among other PTSD coping mechanisms. Recording your triggers and thoughts in a journal can also be a very insightful place to start. And while I do recommend those options—"
"The sunshine-shmuck already tries to do all that shit. Get on with it."
Jazz looked in askance at Midnight who just offered, "The school's on-campus psychiatrist."
"Ah. Well, I was going to say: nothing you do is going to change the past. It will always haunt you. But sometimes, as much as we hate it, everything's the way it's supposed to be—struggles, rage, guilt, and pain included. We need those things in our life so that we can be better next time. That we can grow and learn."
"It sucks. Big time. But sometimes you have to take getting better as its own challenge against fate. Emotional baggage is heavy and will always slow you down."
"What a crock of shit!" Bakugo exploded, catapulting to his feet and clenching his fists as he stormed over to Jazz. "I should suffer because it's good for character growth?! I wasn't able to capture the green bitch because fate wasn't ready for me to? What the fuck kind of Shonen Jump bullshit are you on?!" Getting up in the girl's face he yelled, "Newsflash! Even if I did all the shit you claimed would help, it wouldn't. I can't get Empty Clothes back, and I can't protect anyone else, because I'm not A FUCKING HERO ANYMORE!" Breathing hard, the aching teen's voice lowered, filling with the anguish of a harsh reality he could barely choke out, "I got dropped from the course. I'm just a fucking gen ed student now."
"Ah," Jazz commented softly. "The heart of the problem." Reaching down to the bracelet around her wrist, she rotated it, running her thumb lightly along the little charms.
"You're no longer a hero because your school says you aren't." The docile words hung unassuming in the air. "Funny. I don't remember anyone owning the rights to that word."
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?!"
"Going to a fancy school doesn't make you a hero. You either are or you aren't. And the first "heroes" never had to take a class for it."
Those glacial eyes cut into his own, dousing the fire of his soul in understanding.
"Are you a hero, Bakugo?"
"I fucking will be."
Trigger Warning: Memories of Experimentation
Monday, September 17th
7:22 pm
Over and over, the thick digits of Nezu Kocho's front paws ran through the white fur coating his neck and face. The old grooming habit betrayed his thoughtful state as he sat alone at his desk, eyes picking over several objects covering the black walnut top.
The police and Nezu's staff had been hard at work in the past few days (buying off the black market and hunting down close to fifteen portals in an exotic game of whack-a-mole).
And while combing both the underworld and overworld hadyielded results of ecto-origin…
A biochemistry textbook, a hairbrush and a pair of high-tech welder's goggles sat nonchalantly in front of him.
Right next to a toaster.
A pyrographic toaster.
Whose heating elements seared a man's face into any bread it toasted.
Just what on Earth was he supposed to make of that?
The portal user had to know they couldn't run facial recognition on a slice of toast, right?
And none of the DNA taken off the brush or goggles had come back with a single match from any database. (Although several international embassies were still getting back to them.)
What Nezu did know was that it came from a family of European descent that had at least four members: a dad with likely dark hair and light eyes, a mother with likely light hair and light eyes, a ginger daughter with likely light eyes and a raven-haired son with likely light eyes.
And all four of them had ectoplasm infused in their DNA.
The young man's contamination was so bad, in fact, that it wouldn't be unreasonable to assume he was one of the test subjects used to create the ectoplasmic Nomu.
Which, if true, meant he was probably suffering from severe side effects.
If that boy, or another corrupted individual was the portal user, it would explain so much.
Anyone with that much ectoplasmic contamination would be incredibly unstable. Even more so than the Lunch Lady Nomu. Assuming the boy wasn't half-dead and sending out an SOS for medical attention, all the portals turning up could very well be his quirk going haywire.
Nezu's right paw clenched and he looked away from the hairbrush with haunted eyes.
"XT-518's response to the post-transcriptional modification is going well. Kidney function is still impaired, but dialysis is working well. There is blood in the subject's urine and the ATP1A2 gene needs modification, but the next round of edits should—"
Nezu shuddered, breathing hard at the vivid memory and clutching at his chest, trying to slow irregular heartbeats as phantom myalgia trembled through shaky limbs.
Humans.
Humans and their damned experiments.
A beep too-high-for-anthropoid-ears cut into the mouse's thoughts and Nezu looked down at his vest. Reaching into its pocket and grabbing out a phone, he checked the banner notifications.
A new message from Midnight.
Young Bakugo must have finally finished with that mystery psychiatrist of Midoriya-san's.
Nezu shook his head, still agitated by the knowledge that he'd let someone on campus without ID.
Mitsuki drove a hard bargain when she wanted to, subtly threatening the removal of her son from UA if he couldn't get the help he needed. And for some reason she believed—without a shadow of doubt—that not only was UA failing to provide that help, somehow this Smith person would.
Yes, the new visitor's center was filled to the brim with surveillance devices and weapons. And Nezu made sure that Midnight had not only met the girl before the appointment, but was nearby at all times during (in addition to a slew of other heroes outside the building).
But still.
It made him twitchy.
That American just fit one of his "person of interest" profiles much too closely.
Glaring at several strands of orange hair poking from the brush on his desk, the principal frowned and finally read the message in his paw.
Things went surprisingly well. There was a bit of a…misunderstanding…in the middle. Smith-san's methods are extremely unorthodox, but somehow I think it worked? Bakugo-kun is all fired up and wants to transfer to support. Can you please get the paperwork started, Kocho-sensei?
Misunderstanding? Unorthodox? Oh yeah. He'd definitely be reviewing those tapes later.
Taking a deep breath, Nezu typed back:
See if you can't collect a sample of Smith-san's DNA. I may be paranoid but I'd like to run it through the system.
Monday, September 17th
10:05 pm
The bright glow of a laptop screen lit Shota Aizawa's face in the weak dark of the Height's Alliance lounge. The only other source of illumination cut in from an alcove that hosted the elevator and stairs, and between the two lights, they barely kept inky black from taking over the room.
Reclining into a lime green armchair with legs stretched across an ottoman of the same color, the man logged into his standard issue laptop that was balanced on his thighs.
The kids had already gone to bed, confined by curfew. Listening hard, he could just make out creaks from the floor above near Tokoyami's room. As the shadow user reveled in the night and kept long hours, it wasn't all that concerning, but should any sounds start two doors down—Midoriya's room—he'd have to check in.
Reassured at the second boy's silence, Shota opened a secured web page and quickly typed another login. Navigating to a "Detnerat" investigation folder, he browsed a month's worth of camera footage in and around the company's Kanagawa facility before double clicking a file.
In a small room, Hiroki Mori tinkered with a partially-complete motherboard, soldering tiny things to the fiberglass sheet and carefully bridging them together with filament. Attached to his wrist by way of a bracelet was a curly, insulated wire that clipped to a copper prong beneath his too-large, industrial work table. At its feet crowded hardware, tools, and a garbage can, not unlike mice trying to share space with an elephant; and on its top—and pushed to the back—was a monitor sporting blueprints.
Several minutes passed and Mori continued to work, a rock song's guitar playing softly in the background.
Semi-impatient, Aizawa fast-forwarded, stopping at an earmarked 4:04 am before letting the video roll again.
Mori was now looking down at a capacitor on the top-right side of his project, squinting suspiciously. Poking it with a finger, the ginger sighed as the cap broke off and rolled several centimeters away. He then picked the loose piece up and lifted his glasses for closer inspection, shaking his head before standing and tossing the bit into the nearby garbage can.
So far, everything looked normal, but Aizawa knew better.
Mori crossed the tiny room and disappeared into some kind of supply closet, the video pausing for just a millisecond before resuming.
There.
When the chipper man came back out, it was with a spool of wire, not a spare capacitor in hand. And the motherboard had less parts attached to it than before, despite all the tools on the table remaining exactly where they'd been.
Decent editing. Enough to fool a quick once-over and offer time for a clean getaway. Which was probably all the villains, plural—this definitely wasn't some small-time operation—cared about when they'd switched the footage.
Several more files near this timestamp had also been tampered with, according to Sansa, and the others had seamless transitions. Those edits had definitely been pre-prepared and this one was likely the only one made on a time constraint.
Then there were the odd fluctuations in power that'd been logged by the system dating back to the ninth. Only six days before the kidnapping and theft. That would only make sense if the villains hadn't used a technomancer to access Detnerat's systems until after external research and surveillance had already been completed.
Which, if true, meant real suspects weren't likely to show up on anything directly recorded by Detnerat. The person in charge of editing clearly knew what they were doing.
Aizawa cracked his neck and began to open videos from surrounding shops in extra tabs, starting with anything dated the fifth through the thirteenth.
Grabbing out a notebook, he worked his way through the fifth and sixth, writing down descriptions of people he found suspicious and what time stamps they showed up in. Anyone with multiple appearances moved to the top of the suspect list which he then checked against Detnerat's surveillance videos.
Eyes burning by the time he was done, the bedraggled man looked at the clock on the bottom right of his screen.
3:16 AM and he'd barely made it through two of the high-priority days.
These next few nights promised to be long ones.
Monday, September 17th
12:14 pm
-cut, plot-irrelevant lead in scene-
A knock sounded at the door, causing Inko to fumble the daikon she'd been in the process of peeling. A light thump sounded as she set the radish down, removed her apron and made her way to the front door of her apartment.
After a quick look through the peephole, she hastily unlocked the door and gestured inside with a cheerful, "Okaeri!"
It was oddly nice being able to use the familiar phrase again, even if a normal response for the ritual greeting wasn't echoed.
Still, "See? I told you I'd make it back at a reasonable time! I got lost for a little bit near Tatooin Station, but a really nice wooden guy helped me figure out this patch of construction that threw me off, so it was fine. Apparently they had a villain attack there last week but fixing it was delayed because of insurance stuff. Man, I hate insurance companies. Am I rambling? I'm rambling. Sorry." Despite her words, the redhead grinned bright and ducked around Inko's arm that propped the door open. Toeing off her shoes, she headed toward Izuku's room.
The mother felt her own cheeks lift as she relocked the front door and called down the hall at Jazz's back, "That's nothing! If rambling was an Olympic sport, my Izuku could win gold." Stepping further into the apartment again, Inko watched her guest's head repop from her son's room, face and outfit significantly less pink without the puff of Inko's coat hanging off the girl's shoulders.
"Ready to get to it?"
Instance unease churned Inko's gut, but there was a reason she'd set a specific time for the lesson. She couldn't chicken out now that her new trainer was expecting to start.
"Sure! Let me just change and put everything for the hotpot away."
Jazz's head tilted slightly at the fake enthusiasm.
Pretending she misunderstood the American's body language, Inko added, "It's a soup that's great for cold weather. It'll really warm you up from the inside out."
With a soft smile and eyes that knew too much, Jazz responded, "Sounds good! I'll go ahead and change, too, th—" the words muffled as the door to her temporary abode closed behind her and Inko took the opportunity to slip back into the kitchen. Putting everything away like she'd promised, she headed into her own room. Clicking the door shut and leaning against it for support, she looked at the plain brown dresser on her right.
Those six steps across the room felt like twenty.
Reaching into one of the drawers with a sigh, Inko pulled out a pair of moss green yoga pants.
Please, Kami-sama, let them still fit.