(Saturn Return 1)

[wrecking_yard]

Midoriya is himself as always, and when I open my office door, he's staring at me a little too close and doing that furrowed-brow face with his hand over his mouth, distracted.  

"What is it."

"Hmm?  Oh it's just - I know you lock your office like everyone else but I never see you unlock it.  I thought it was another badge-proximity lock, but then I realized All Might and Present Mic have keys, you're the only one I've never seen with them."  

This is... I'm losing count of the times he's noticed little shit pointing at the second quirk.  I can't tell him he's overthinking it at this point because he's not, and he's so hypersensitive to feedback that my conscience will eat me if I dodge, especially since that analytical habit of his has already saved lives more than once.  It doesn't help that he's giving me the nervous look like he thinks he's stepped out of bounds.  

I swallow my pride and habit of secrecy, keeping my voice down.  "Haven't needed to."  

I motion for him to go in the open door, and he at least manages to hold in the babbling until the door closes.  "You have two quirks?  How did that happen, are they inherited?  Wait - that's how the scarves work isn't it, you have way too much fine control and dexterity for those to be purely mechanical and I've always thought I must've just seen wrong before when you do things with small objects, it's clearly not object specific so some kind of telekinesis?  But you can't just move things that're away from you and if you use it reflexively that much you would, you're always in contact with things that move more than they should so that must be the limit, it's tactile based!"  

He's not usually this bad.  Definitely taking a panic attack, and one bad enough that I'm wondering if Recovery Girl keeps Xanax in her office.  "Yeah, that's pretty much it."  

He blinks, like he either hadn't expected to get it right, hadn't expected me to confirm it, or both.  "Oh.  Wow."  

While I'm getting papers sorted, he's already fidgeting, studying the deck prism I've been using as a paperweight.  "Oh hey, there's a maker's mark and inscription on this - this is a real antique!"  

And then he's distracted looking it up on his phone.  It's a welcome pause; I barely slept last night and have a lot to sort out today.  Of course, before I can get things together his eyebrows have vanished under his hair and he's muttering.  "Power set and methodology would've been ideal for investigation and pursuit - but, way too young, would've been first year student..."

"Midoriya?"  

"AAH!  Sorry, sorry, just - where did you get this?"  He's sitting on the rest of the tangent for an answer and literally sitting on his hands as part of it.  

"I grabbed it from home when I got into UA."  It's mostly in that hazy area; I remember grabbing it off my father's desk while I was shoving things in a duffel bag in a panic.  I don't even know if there was a reason anymore or if it just happened to be there when I was freaking out.  

"That's been around the world, Shota."  

Now he's staring at me wide-eyed and then hurriedly checking a couple other things on his phone while I shake off the brief daze, and there's a little, squeaky "ah".  

"Midoriya."  

"SorrysorryIdidn'tknowtheyneverreleasedhisrealnamebutofcoursetheywouldn'tyouhadjuststartedandIdidn'tmeantoprysorrysorry-"

I hold up a hand to cut him off and maybe get him to breathe.  

"I didn't get much sleep last night, so try breathing between words."  He does inhale, sharply, like he hasn't inhaled in a few minutes.  He probably hasn't.  "I barely remember my old man and we didn't get along, so I'm not going to get offended if you call him a bastard."  I've got a window open on my computer searching the inscription on the prism and it's an easy search - there's a couple hits on the first page with the name of the ship it was from, and a lot for a villain named Skeleton Key.  

Of course he had a code name.  Of course he was infamous.  Saboteur, thief, and assassin; I'd heard of him academically without making the connection.  Looks like the prism was one of his trophies.  

"...oh.  If you got the tactile telekinesis from him, that would make sense, his Quirk never was identified but that would explain everything..."  He's covering his mouth again, thinking.  "Ah - sorry, I probably shouldn't be prying like this."  

My desire to avoid anything to do with my family is at war with my desire to do the right thing by my students, and encouraging Midoriya's tactical sense is winning.  "That's fine, you've already saved lives by analyzing everything that way and paying attention.  Just maybe try not to blurt it out like that and think out loud less?  You don't want the other side listening to you figure things out."  

He rubs the back of his head; he's already picking up Toshinori's mannerisms.  "Right.  Sorry."  

I give a deep sigh.  "You're fine."  Just skirting close to things I've avoided for most of my life; now I need to ask to Nocturne and Nedzu how much they knew.  I straighten my folder.  "So, about your internship."  

"Aizawa-sensei?"  He swallows, looking down.  "I.  Need to tell you the truth."  

"You three took down Stain, the cops were dicks, instead of quoting the full laws and just covering for Iida, Endeavor took credit for everything.  I know."  

He blanches and stares at me, mouth hanging open.

"Native contacted me off the record; he didn't want you kids getting in trouble, but thought that, as your teacher, I should know what happened.  Iida also tried to do a confession earlier, so I've gotten his actual report off the record as well."  

He raises a hand and then lowers it, then makes a few wavy gestures that would normally accompany nervous rambling, then he pauses.  "Wait.  Todoroki and I didn't break any laws?"

I prop my face on one hand.  "A citizen who uses their quirk outside of normal legal boundaries shall not be guilty of any criminal activity if:"  I hold up a hand to start ticking off points.  "They were acting in protection of self or others, to prevent harm; in a situation of extreme duress; making all reasonable attempts to contact assistance and authorities; with a demonstrated preference for escape or avoiding conflict that was prohibited by circumstances or would have resulted in severe injury or loss of life."  I give a couple seconds for it to sink in after the recitation of the law.  "I've had to invoke it that in my own reports for bystanders a few times.  Iida would be the only questionable one, because he sought it out, and even then it would be hair-splitting about intent, because he knew Stain would be ambushing a victim, and if he had retreated, there would have been a death that was prevented by your actions."  

Midoriya blinks a few more times.  "Oh."  He frowns.  "Is Iida in trouble for this?"

I rub the bridge of my nose.  "Yes and no.   I'm going to be working with him extra so he learns to handle that sort of thing better, but he's not getting any official reprimands."  

And that's where the more detailed review of Midoriya's actions and internship training started.  

..............................................................


Nocturne's the easier one to find, hanging around the faculty lounges during lunch; I've taken the deck prism with me.  He's already noticed me heading his way before I even sit down.  

"Aizawa."  He nods to me.  "How're your students?"

"A headache.  Iida thought I was going to expel him and then that I should expel him, Todoroki's being cagey, Midoriya's in and out of panic attacks, Bakugou definitely ended up at the wrong agency...."  I roll my hand in the air; he probably doesn't know the actual truth, but they still got mention in the news for being part of taking down Stain.  "But I've had worse."  

He chuckles.  "If anyone here can handle that class, it's you." 

I give a half laugh and let that go.  "Anyway, I wanted to ask you about something personal."  I pat the prism, which he's definitely already noticed.  "Midoriya decided to look up the mark on this in one of his panic fidgets.  That's why you were so interested in it when you saw it, wasn't it?"  

He shrugs.  "I didn't think it was news anymore - honestly, I was expecting you to ask about it back then."  

"Yeah, well." I almost stuff it back in a pocket, but decide against it.  "Back then I was only thinking about getting away."  I'm poking at my lunch, still debating eating.  

"I'd been chasing him for years... you were the first solid lead I'd ever gotten."  

That gets me to pause.  He's always been specific in his phrasing.  "I was the lead?"  Not the prism, me.  

"Well... I had strong suspicions from your entrance exam.  The ones you did take down or assist with mostly matched how he worked, just clumsier, naturally - you were a kid."  Saboteur.  Skeleton Key had been known for being able to sabotage vehicles and machines without any visible sign of anything wrong, things disconnected and broken internally.  I'd brought down a few of the robots by flailing with that ability, or slowed them down enough for someone else to get them.  "I wasn't sure until I was able to check on that."  He motions to the prism.  

I nod with a quiet "huh"; I'd never thought to trace it or search on it.  Then again, I've also been running from this pretty bad.

"You say this like this's all new to you."  

I grimace.  "I've been avoiding this for a long time."  

He shakes his head slowly.  "I thought you already knew, with how terrified you were of going home or him finding out you were at UA."  

"I didn't need to know who he was to know they were involved in shady shit or be terrified of them."  There's still a lot I don't remember or want to remember.

"So you honestly haven't looked into anything since then?"  He's pretty concerned over this, even though it doesn't seem like it should be that big of a deal.  I got a life, I focused on it, I moved on and didn't want anything to do with them.  

"I haven't even opened the doors to most of the house since then.  I had a life and I got out."  I have my hands full enough wrestling the PTSD from that internship without dredging up more of those early years.  

He's frowning, and definitely worried.  "You can't run from it forever.  It's going to creep up on you sooner or later - and we can only hope it's just metaphorical."  

Okay, that's ominous.  "What was he doing."  

"That's the problem.  We still don't know."  He's staring off through the table.  "We know he was working for someone, but not who.  We know there was a goal, but we never found the pattern.  We know he wasn't alone, but not who else was a part of it... and as far as we know, whatever he was involved in is still out there.  We searched the house, but didn't find anything, besides that there have to be hidden rooms we couldn't get into without destroying things."  He's drumming his fingers on the table, and he takes a deep breath before he continues.  "You came to UA already knowing most of his skills, and where to aim in a fight to be potentially lethal without thinking about it.  We had to adjust things to train you out of that.  I don't doubt he had plans for you."  

"Stop being so squeamish, Shota.  You're going to be a shinigami one day."

I stare at my food, not feeling that hungry anymore, and I'm still staring at it when he speaks up again.  

"Aizawa?  We're all glad you ran away.  You've been an amazing hero."  

I can hear the unspoken part - I would've been a terrifying assassin.

................................................................


I'm sitting at the table that night, at Mic's place, with the prism on the table, just staring at it.  I know there was probably a reason I grabbed it when I ran, one I could find if I just reached for it a little - but I'm not sure I want to.  I might get where Bakugou's coming from, but Todoroki's the one that's really like looking back in time at myself, and I have a good inkling why it makes the anger at Endeavor for his abuses feel so personal.  I shouldn't see myself at that age coming from our side of the line.  

I don't even notice Mic come in until there's a hand on my shoulder, startling me out of staring at the prism; the scarves swirl up for a couple seconds, staying there until I can get a few good deep breaths to focus on settling them back on my shoulders.  He stays still, not moving until they've stopped.  

"Hey.  Nocturne asked me to make sure you were okay - said you were looking pale and rattled earlier."  He gives my shoulder a squeeze and walks around the table to flop in the chair across from me, dropping his glasses and the amplifier on the table.  

"Eh.  Not that bad."  I pick up the prism, contact juggling it with one hand, watching the glowing lines of my power run through the glass to control the movement.  

He raises an eyebrow and fixes me with a look of disbelief for a second, but he visibly decides against calling me out - directly, at least.  "That's your old trinket, right?  The one you swiped off the desk in the old house?"  

Can't see it but I can feel where it is to pull - it gets a couple inches toward the edge before it stops, a stronger power grabbing onto it.  "You're going to need to do that when I'm not looking if you want it."

I shake my head to clear it.  "Yeah."  The prism is dangling by a couple glowing threads from the side of my hand, threads that almost faltered; I roll it back up into my hand where I can see the bottom of it.  "Midoriya looked up the marks in one of his panic fits.  Turns out it was stolen - a trophy."  I toss it a few inches into the air and catch it, holding it over to him. 

 He's studying it, turning it over in his hands a couple times.  "So wait.  Midoriya ID'ed your old man by looking this thing up?"  

"Yep."  There's a little queasy pang; like if I don't say it, it might go away.  "Skeleton Key.  Nocturne said I was the first real lead he'd ever had; he thought I already knew."  

Mic turns it over again with a nod.  "That figures.  You holding up okay?"  

"Meh."  I shrug.  "It was bound to come up sooner or later."  

He raises an eyebrow and dead-eyes me, setting the prism on the table.  "Yeah, and you sorta go pale and shaky whenever the idea that you had family doesn't get dropped fast, and I've seen you dash out of movies before to throw up."  

I hunch down into my collar, the scarves shifting up.  He doesn't drop the unimpressed stare.  I huff, looking away.  "It's not like I even remember much from before UA."  I slump over, arms folded on the table, staring at the prism.  "I think... I used to try to swipe this a lot, when I was still too short to reach."  It's easy to stretch a little bit of power out and watch the glowing lines run through the table and into the prism, tugging back on it; it jerks a few inches before there's an uncomfortable lump and my throat feels tight, and I drop the power, letting go of it.  "Like that.  If he caught me he'd stop me, and tell me I needed to do it when he wasn't looking."  It'd be cute if I couldn't read the implications, teaching me to follow in his footsteps.  

The table's quiet; I know he can't see the lights like I can to have seen how jagged and weak they got as my focus broke, but the prism's jitter of movement was pretty obvious, especially coming from me.  I can write kana mostly legibly just touching one end of a piece of string.  After a couple minutes, he gets up, and I can hear him setting up the kettle.  "Yoshida sent over this tin of herbal tea for you; the note said it was supposed to be good for nerves."

Of course they did; they've been regularly nudging things like that at me and getting after me for how much coffee I drink.  Now I'm wondering if Orochi - Tanaka-Orochi - knew my dad, or knows anything about him.  It's an uncomfortable, panicky thing, especially after what Nocturne said earlier - 

But no.  Tanaka wasn't as subtle as what Nocturne described.  If he'd been working for Tanaka, Nocturne would've tracked it down by now.  Might be worth asking them later, though; they probably would know something the normal avenues wouldn't.  

At least I know I won't find anything terrifying in the normally accessible rooms.  I can remember the desk, the room around it; there were a lot of weird trinkets that had to be other trophies - it's funny Nocturne and the cops didn't find anything useful.  If they found the study at all - I don't remember if it was a normal door into the study or not, just what it looked like from in front of the desk.  

He doesn't tap my shoulder when the kettle's done - he taps one of the scarves that's shifting in the air a little behind me, and it's enough to startle me out of staring into space again.    He clears his throat, and I force it to relax, letting go of his wrist.  "Let's move to the couch, eh?"  

I leave the prism there on the table, following him into the other room.  The couch is a big curved velvet one, the kind you could throw a blanket over and sleep on, with enough room for a few people.  He sets the mugs down on a coffee table and then catches one of my sleeves to tug me into sitting down next to him by the table.  It's slowly turning into habit to just flop over leaning on him, even if it's more tense than usual right now; he's got an arm over my shoulder as soon as we sit down, leaving me a couple minutes to wrestle the nerves and settle.  "Hey, it's okay.  You're 31, not 13." It's a soft, gentle verbal nudge, and he gives my arm a soft squeeze.  "That was a long time ago, and you've got kids of your own you've been helping out, making sure they have someone pulling for them."  

I let out a breath, hunkering down.  "They've been dead almost twenty years.  It shouldn't bother me like this."  

He clears his throat and I can see him eyeing me sideways.

"Oh shut up."  He lets me sulk for a minute, although the angle I'm sitting at means burying my face in my scarves more includes curling in against him more, then he leans forward just enough to pick up one of the mugs and hold it over to me; I wrap around it, pulling my feet up onto the couch.  

"You know, I think that bit earlier is the first time I've ever heard you talk about your parents.  Since that first sports festival, I mean - and that wasn't really talking about them, it was..."  He wrinkles his nose, and shifts his hand to be on my head, idly sifting my hair.  "You were just kinda dazed that you didn't have to be afraid of them anymore.  Then you were getting guilty that you were glad they were gone.  You didn't really say anything about them... and before that, it was just how they'd kill you if they found out you were at UA, especially in the hero course."  

I make a quiet acknowledging noise, sipping on the tea.  

"That's where some of the dicks got the idea you were a villain's kid partly.  You'd think they'd have figured you were nothing like your parents just from how afraid of them you were."  

Boy do I remember the jabs about how I was a villain in the making.  "What did you think?"  

"You had run away and were really afraid of them, and Nocturne was coming and going a lot, hovering when he was there.  I thought they probably were villains, just - it meant you had to be really brave to come to UA like that and stick with it."  He hasn't touched his tea, just kind of staring at it.  I think he made it mostly so there'd be a pretense that he wasn't just foisting it on me.  "That, and how hard it had to be for you when almost everybody else had families to go back to and people looking out for them and stuff, when you just had yourself and whatever faculty had time to check on you."  

Usually Nocturne, or our homeroom, sometimes Nedzu finding a few minutes here and there, but I think I turned into Nocturne's pet project thanks to his history with my father.  "Nocturne said they all thought I'd known all along who he was."  

"Yeah, wellll... I never looked into it.  Seemed like your business and all, but I guess it was kinda staring you in the face."  He gives a weak half-grin and gestures toward the table where the prism is.  "You really don't remember anything before UA?"  

I shake my head as much as I can with the way I'm sitting.  "The exam, stuffing things in a duffel bag when I got accepted.  Everything before that is just... little bits of voices or an image here and there."  I stare into the tea, and there's a barely audible low humming - the thing I've caught him doing sometimes when I'm being twitchy at night.  "Mom asking me if I see the lights too.  The thing with trying to steal the prism.  Dad saying something about how it'd been all over the world.  The study, from the front of the desk."  I grimace.  "Mom trying to kill me a couple times, but that's."  One of the times I darted out of a movie to throw up was because of one of those, he already knows the gist of it.  

And that thing that came up while I was talking to Nocturne; a dark room, not the study, feeling sick, holding my breath.  "Dad telling me to stop being squeamish."  I can't manage the other part of it out loud, and finally just close my eyes, bringing one of the scarves up to spell it out where I can't see it.  

The little hum spikes into the kind of noise that you feel more than hear for a couple seconds, and he's squeezing around my shoulder.  I flinch and curl up into it more; dignity be damned, there's nobody else here and I've got one of those stupid squidgy panic attacks to beat down.  He doesn't ask any more questions that night, just informs me I'm not doing any paperwork because I'm ahead on everything anyway, so we're going to relax and watch movies or something.  The old UA "No horror movies when you're like this" gets invoked vetoing half my votes, so the evening turns into drinking tea and falling asleep watching historical dramas and trying to ignore a dumb rom-com.

..........................................................................

Mic has morning classes, I don't.  I still wake up a little after he leaves; his place feels safer than my apartment, but I'd probably have insomnia in a bomb shelter.  I try to get back to sleep and fail; my head's still a mess and I can feel the nightmares waiting now that I'm alone.  

So, I get up, get dressed, and stalk out the front door.  I don't really have a plan besides getting outside, and either distracting myself or shaking something for answers.  I stop at one corner and consider seeing if I can find Orochi, but I can't quite bring up the nerve to head toward their usual haunts and look for them.  I'm not sure if I'm more afraid they'll know something, or afraid they won't.  

For once I can concede that coffee isn't the greatest idea for my nerves, at least until it's a little closer to afternoon classes when I need to stay awake despite being somewhere that reads as "safer".  The park's got too many people.  The street's also got too many people, but at least I can keep moving and just focus on Going Somewhere.  It's a little quieter around my old territory, and while people definitely recognize me, nobody's trying for my attention besides a few careful greetings.  

Of course, that means passing by the house.

I stare at it from the sidewalk for a minute.  There's probably clues to just what the old man was up to, in places nobody could get to but him - 

or me.  

I can't keep running away from it.  

I straighten up and walk around the narrow wall and the tiny sad little excuse for a yard, taking a second to disarm the electronic alarm before I open the lock and walk in the front door.  The front room's the same as I left it, minus a few things noticeably shifted when Midnight and Mic came in grabbing things to take over to his place while I was flattened.  I did a lot to make it my own space over the years.  All the old furniture's long gone, just a wicker-frame couch, a couple chairs, locking metal cabinets, a wardrobe, and my desk.  The only other parts of the house that feel like they might be mine a little are the kitchen, the bathroom, and the hall closet.  Everything else hasn't been touched since they died.  

There's a stairwell up, but the only actual doors in the first floor hallway are the ones I'd normally use and one other toward the back of the house.  My first guess is that the study would be in there, the way any normal sane person would organize a house.  It does occur to me to look for the basement for a second, but I'm not actually feeling like mashing my face into this that hard yet - not when I'm still working up the courage to go into the normal living space rooms that were searched.  I keep my hands in my pockets and off the walls, only reaching over to open the door at the end of the hall.  

It's not the study.  It's a dining room area, with a table, chairs, and an area to the side where there's an easel and some canvases piled up, most of them blank, a few with partial starts on paintings, a case and small table next to it with paints and other things.  There's spiderwebs and a thick layer of dust everywhere, a few spiders scrambling to hide as I turn on the light.  

She painted.  There's not more than outlines on the canvases here, stacked against the wall out of the way.  I can sort of remember sitting on the floor, propped on the rug, watching her paint, in a hazy way where the only clear thing is brush strokes on canvas and the feel of the rug.  

There's still a couple dishes on the table, coated in dust, set out like there was going to be food brought in.  

There's another door in the back, one with windows in it looking out on a small little "yard" that's basically a glorified ground-floor balcony.  No other doors, but the room's too narrow to take up the entire back of the first floor.  

Not looking for whatever hidden door is probably there, behind the place where the stairs to the basement would have to be.  Not really feeling like checking the back 'yard' either, so I just close the door and step back, feeling vaguely uncomfortable, like I just put one foot back twenty years ago.  I'm not even sure what I expect to find anymore; I know they already searched all the rooms that were accessible without powers like mine, and I really don't want to find any of the hidden rooms.  

I slink back, and up the stairs; I've kept them sort of clean, but there's more dust the further up I get.  I've never really bothered to clean all the way up to the landing.  

Two doors, a narrow set of stairs to the attic, not enough space to account for the size of the second floor either.  Of course there's more hidden rooms to find later.  I pass by the door to my old room; that's a little more than I want to revisit. That just leaves the door to their room.

There's another scattering of spiders as I open the door; it's not completely dark even with the lights out, there's the back window. Really, it's amazing that nobody's thought to break into this place with how often it's been half-abandoned, but then, between it being technically an Agency Office and all the stories about it being haunted, I guess nobody wants to touch it.

It's a pretty normal looking room - sliding door in the wall where the closest are, the bed, a dresser and nightstands, a jewelry box. I walk in a little, looking around in a bit more detail.

There's bloodstains in the carpet and on the duvet, old and faded and covered in dust. If I studied it hard enough, I could probably make out where the bodies had been. It should probably bother me more than it does, but it's mostly just surreal; like whatever twingy nerves that expected them to show up again had another one carved off the bundle. I'm standing where they were found dead; another confirmation that they're gone.

The old guilt that used to crop up when I was younger that Mic had commented on has mostly died out. Now it's mostly just that weird numb awareness that it's probably something that should bother me more, but it doesn't.

Probably healthier than being knotted up about them, anyway.

There's a few things still out on the dresser; a necklace that's been gathering dust, a notepad, a framed photo by the table mirror. It's weird enough seeing pictures of myself back in the old UA albums and the like, it's weirder looking at a picture where I've got be around seven or eight. I can't tell if it's me reading into it or if it looks as stiff as it seems; like you'd shoved three strangers into a frame and told them to pose for a normal family photo. I'm definitely not even trying, standing stiff in the middle, both of them with a hand on my shoulder.

Even with the flickers of images, I've managed to blank out their faces pretty thoroughly; the photo's familiar, but it doesn't feel like it meshes with anything in my life anymore.

Well, mostly.

My father's clean-shaven, impeccably kept, straight posture, nothing out of place, but the more I look at the picture, the more it sinks in just why "cleaning up and shaving and putting effort into it" always leaves me staring at the mirror feeling like it's someone else in the mirror, some horror-movie doppelganger. I do take after him, enough that anybody who'd seen him with the mask off would get the resemblance pretty fast.

So it's an aversion that's another of the things I shouldn't have in common with Todoroki; avoiding looking like him even if I couldn't remember what he looked like.

I walk out of the room, look down the hall at the attic, and just head for the stairs out; that's enough of this for one day.

Week.

Month.

Whatever.