Chapter Text
Shota Aizawa’s apartment was surprisingly cozy with the blackout curtains pulled shut. The dull hues of the television cast a dim light on the furniture in the living room, the tattered edge of the fabric of the gray sofa turning orange momentarily. A couple years back the furniture used to fit him like a glove, but after his final growth spurt in third year the arm of the couch was now permanently nestled under the bend of his knees.
With a groan, he shifted around, the furniture creaking under his weight. As his nose pressed against the fabric, he caught a whiff of the remnants of Aizawa’s cheap cologne.
Fucking insomnia. Sleep evaded him for the last thirty-two hours, but not for the lack of trying. Aizawa’s couch had always been more comfortable than anything else - it was methodically molded by his bony frame after all, - but after the dreadful week he just had, it wasn’t granting him the blissful unconsciousness he was craving.
At least his skull wasn’t cracking under the pressure of the pounding migraine anymore - he had finally managed to nurse that away by ignoring the warning on the painkiller box. Shinsou made a point to throw away the empty blister pack and decided he would do a pharmacy run later to hide all evidence - the last thing he wanted was a lecture from Aizawa about how he was going to fuck up his liver.
His eyes opened drowsily, the room’s details slowly drifting into focus as his sight adjusted to the darkness. The flat screen was playing some sort of a documentary about bears when Shinsou muted it an hour ago. Now on the screen was a pretty news reporter, talking animatedly to the camera.
Shinsou’s eyes drifted to the captions and he let out a groan, while his hand blindly searched for the remote. As always, it somehow found its way into the abyss that was the crack within the couch cushions. He turned the TV off with a flick and closed his eyes again. If he had to watch another report on the Hero Breakdown Incidents he was going to lose his mind. It was enough that he lived and breathed that shit at work.
It was all fun and games, until heroes, once symbols of hope and justice, suddenly turned rogue, their quirks spiraling out of control with deadly consequences. The press had coined the term “Hero Breakdown Incidents,” in Shinsou’s opinion, a sterile way to describe heroes mercilessly murdering civilians they were sworn to protect, and killing themselves in the process. Made the cleanup easier, but made the investigation harder with having no one to question.
Because of this, it wasn’t clear what triggered these breakdowns and Shinsou spent the last ten weeks slaving away to get even a breadcrumb of a clue. To no avail, of course, because his contacts were all small fry criminals and why would anything go well in this hell hole that Tokyo turned into over the last couple of months.
Being an underground hero meant that he was always on the clock, something that Aizawa made sure he understood before he gave his blessing for Shinsou’s decision to follow in his footsteps. Most missions happened after dark, while the daylight hours were reserved for gathering intel, or if Shinsou was particularly lucky, sleep.
His eyes opened again, resignation mixing with disappointment in his chest.
No luck today either it seemed.
Shinsou was drawn from his self pity, as the front door of Aizawa’s place opened with a telltale jingle. He pushed himself on his elbows to peek at the visitor, the room swaying around him. Despite his expectation, he did not see his mentor, but instead it was Ms. Joke with an unusually grim expression on her face.
“Hey,” Shinsou mumbled, the half asleep haze still affecting his voice and making it rumble deeper. Ms. Joke went to flick on the lights in the kitchen and Shinsou turned away before his migraine could flare up from the sudden brightness.
“Shinsou,” Ms. Joke said as a greeting, but her voice did not carry the usual energy, which made Shinsou frown. Something was not right. “Did I wake you?”
“I wish."
This was as good of an excuse as any to stop trying and failing miserably to fall asleep. It was the same dance of an old play, and he couldn’t change the choreography. In the end caffeine was always the answer.
As if reading his mind, Ms. Joke headed to the kitchen counter. The coffee maker whirred to life, the machinery grinding the beans in a delicious promise as Shinsou’s favourite aroma tickled his nose.
He pushed himself up from his position so he was sitting now, his foot touching the wooden floor. It was cold even through his socks, but he never turned on the heating when he was alone. It wasn’t only to save money, — not that Aizawa let him contribute to his bills considering how much he crashed here. Rather, any doctor he spoke to while trying to solve his insomnia always brought up the fact that people slept better in a cooler room.
It didn’t fucking work, but it didn’t stop him from trying.
He slowly made his way to the kitchen where Ms. Joke was pouring frothed milk into his favourite chipped mug with deep concentration. Once done, she rotated the mug around in her hand, before finding an angle she liked.
“Here,” she said, offering the mug to him. “It’s a dog.”
Shinsou stared at the wonky latte art, and tilted his head. It looked nothing like a dog. Well, maybe after it was hit by a car.
“Thanks,” he drawled, keeping the comment to himself. Ms. Joke liked fiddling with coffee and Shinsou wasn’t about to ruin that by being a smart ass. Deep down he enjoyed being fussed over by her, and these small gestures made him feel like a kid. In a good way, not the condescending type of shit some adults in power used to do when he was in state wards growing up. Not to mention, Aizawa was just as emotionally repressed as Shinsou, so he appreciated the bone Ms. Joke threw to him, every now and then.
“Oy,” Ms. Joke said with a nudge, making Shinsou blink. She was smiling, but concern painted her features. “You keep zoning out. Are you okay?”
“Yeah, long day,” Shinsou said, then added. “Long fucking month, actually.”
“Amen to that,” she muttered and wasn’t that an understatement, Shinsou thought.
As he drank the coffee the apartment materialized around him, no longer the sludgy blur that slowly swayed in front of his eyes minutes ago. It was probably placebo - no way caffeine would kick in that quick, but there was something about the sugary frothy latte that did the trick.
At the steady arrival of spatial awareness, he had realized Ms. Joke had left the kitchen a while ago as he was staring into nothing with the mug warming his hand. She was now rummaging around Aizawa’s bedroom.
He rinsed the mug and left it in the sink before trailing after her - it wasn’t a long walk, the apartment was quite compact. He stood in the doorway and watched her grab a couple long sleeved shirts from a chair and some underwear from three different spots in the bedroom.
“So…” he prompted, feeling ready to start to form coherent sentences soon.
“Feel more awake now?” She asked with a small grin thrown his way, before she moved onto the mission of finding socks.
“Under the cabinet,” he directed. Ms. Joke reached under the furniture and pulled out three balled up clean socks. She gave Shinsou an impressed look. So he clarified. “They always roll under,” he said. “And he is too lazy to fish them out.”
It was a comforting thought, that even though he moved out, some habits remained the same.
Ms. Joke laughed. “That does sound like him.”
Shinsou watched her pack for a bit longer, before he prompted again. Now that he was awake, he was feeling nosy. “So are you gonna tell me what happened? Or is it classified?”
Her demeanour immediately changed. She stopped packing for a moment, her face going all serious. It was a strange sight to see Ms. Joke without any laugh lines crinkling her eyes.
“Oh it is classified all right,” she said. “What isn’t these days,” she added with a mutter. Then she looked at him. “You are going to be involved though, so there shouldn’t be any harm in me telling you, right?”
“No interrogation needed? Damn, I wish all my work was this easy.” he said, hoping his curiosity would be sated. It was a rare sight to see Ms. Joke so serious, - he wanted to know what caused it.
“I’ll know if you did,” she said pointing her finger at him in a mock threat. Then sighed. “Damn, Shinsou, where do I even start? Something happened today. Something bad. Seven civilians died and almost triple injured.”
Shinsou stilled. Another incident?
Ms. Joke continued. “I don’t envy the first heroes who stumbled upon it. Or the paramedics. It was-, God, I saw photos, it was terrible. Almost everyone had to go to the burn units.”
Shinsou grimaced. His mind wandered, back to his time at school, and saw Dabi, laughing maniacally as blue flames roared around him. He wasn’t close enough to see his face, but even at that distance he could feel the heat of the fire.
“It wasn’t a villain, was it,” he said dryly, drawing his own conclusion. It was hard to not be pessimistic. It was unlikely that Aizawa would be involved if it was a fuel tank that exploded or a natural disaster, and with the league of villains gone the biggest threat around were heroes themselves.
He expected a quick confirmation, but as he searched Ms. Joke’s face all he saw was a sea of emotions. Her lips were pulled between her teeth, her brows furrowed. She gave Shinsou an exasperated look.
“It wasn’t a villain, no.”
He was right then. “That bad?”
“It’s bad. And different. I don’t know how to say it,” she said, more to herself, then gave him a wry smile. “You just had to couch surf at Eraserhead’s place and force me to be the messenger,” she muttered without heat. Her shoulders dropped, the folded clothes in her hand unraveling as she sighed.
Shinsou waited for her to continue, his stomach turning into knots. What the hell was going on?
“Just tell me,” he forced out.
“It’s one of your old classmates. From UA.”
No. No way.
The room started swaying again. But he wasn’t tired anymore. His heart started beating like crazy. He could hear it drum in his ears.
Maybe he was naive. But to think that they would do something like that… who would be capable of-
Something clicked in his mind. But which one -
“Who?” He choked the words out.
“Ground Zero,” she said with a sad finality. He stood there at the door frame, processing everything he heard and she returned to packing silently.
Emotions clashed over his head in thunderous waves. On one hand he was relieved as fucked up that was. He wasn’t sure he would have been able to handle it if the perpetrator turned out to be Todoroki. Through Midoriya he got to know him over the last few years, and to see him become this would have been too much, even for his skewed world view.
Bakugou had always been hotheaded and aggressive, Shinsou thought the tremor not quite gone from his hands. On paper it almost made sense. If anyone out of that class would have done this, it would be him, but… was he really capable of such a thing? Being an asshole and being a murderer did not always overlap.
But he didn’t know him well. Not like he did Todoroki. The air in the room suddenly felt stifling as he realized Midoriya would have to learn about this. If he didn’t know of it already. How long ago did this happen? Just how would society react when the number seven top hero turned out to be someone capable of such atrocities?
His knees buckled under the weight of his thoughts as he stumbled over to the bed. Mulling over the news he sat at the edge, pressing into the mattress.
He stared at the wooden floor, varnish peeling off from old age and rearranged furniture, and tried to make sense of a world that just flipped all of its rules.
“Is he dead?” He asked after a while. It was how these cases went after all. Suddenly everything was too loud. The zipper of the duffel bag pulled closed, Ms. Joke bumping her elbow into the sliding door of the wardrobe, the hum of the pipes as water flew through them.
“That’s the thing,” Ms. Joke said. “He’s alive. Admitted to it, right after.”
That made him sit straighter. “Bakugou confessed?” He asked, his brows furrowing, despite his shock, his brain just catching up. “Wait, he survived? Do you think it’s connected to the Incidents?”
He rambled on without thinking. “This is huge then,” he started, his mind going into overdrive, while his chest twisted into something ugly. “If it’s connected to the other hero breakdowns—“
“Look,” Ms. Joke interrupted. “I know you have questions, but I don’t have all the answers. Or any if I’m honest. I just told you what I heard, but I’m not on the case, not properly anyway. And I don’t know how long Aizawa will be on it, considering how his judgment could be affected by… you know.”
“He isn’t like that,” Shinsou said, feeling defensive all of a sudden. “He wouldn’t allow emotions to affect his work.”
She rolled her eyes. “Oh please. As if he wouldn’t throw away protocol the moment it had something to do with you.”
Shinsou closed his mouth. Well. She wasn’t wrong. But family was always different, wasn’t it? Bonded by blood or found. “It still feels wrong, that they would just bar him from being involved. Not sure how they would expect him to just sit around and do fuck-all.”
“Shinsou,” Ms. Joke sighed and he wasn’t sure if it was for the sentiment or the choice of words. Probably both. She lowered the duffel bag to the floor, the fabric bending on itself under the shape of the zipper line. “You know how the HPSC operates.”
“Terribly,” he said dryly.
She gave him a weak smile. “Perhaps, but that’s not for me to judge. And not for you either,” she said pointedly, giving him a somewhat reproachful look, “if you ever want to get that promotion.”
Shinsou huffed and slowly stood, the bed creaking under the weight shift. “Not really the brown-nose type, Joke.” This tangent was enough of a distraction for the strength to return to his limbs, despite still being somewhat overwhelmed.
So Ground Zero offed people now. The dog that only barked did bite in the end.
Disappointment trickled into his veins like slow burning acid, tearing through his flesh cell by cell. For someone whose whole gig was mind control, it seemed he was shit at judging someone’s true character.
Things happened in a blur afterwards. He downed a second coffee while Ms. Joke finished packing up. She turned off the lights and once Shinsou put on a baseball cap fished out a final item to go into the duffel bag. She didn’t need to ask if he was coming along and she waited for him expectantly to put on his shoes and amble after her.
The car ride passed in a timeless cloud, Shinsou’s gaze fixed on the window and his own warped reflection.
But all he could see was blond hair and red eyes.
His once classmate.
Past friend? God no.
Suspected reason for gay awakening? Man, probably.
The face of a murderer, apparently.