Chapter Text
Natsuo stares down into the empty can of coffee with a sinking feeling of the deepest betrayal. It’s his fourth of the evening, and finding the end of it hasn’t gifted him the will to live, which feels a bit like a scam. He shifts in his seat, looking at the pile of papers that he’s sorting into folders for the clinic. The clinic is digitizing and reorganizing all of their patient files into a more sensical filing system, which is great, really. The downside is that he’s the lowest rung intern, so he’s in charge of doing that.
He’s been going folder by folder, checking each file for completion, organizing, scanning, and then filing every single file for the last seven years of patients for the duration of his internship. Natsuo has been coming in early and staying late, so he’s by far the only one left in the building, still trying to impress everyone, or even get someone to notice that he’s working so hard. He keeps hoping against hope that someone, anyone, will magically turn around and go, “Oh, that Natsuo! He’s got one hell of a work ethic!” and everything will be worth it. Hasn’t happened yet, but one day, probably.
Maybe.
He checks his phone. Just past one in the morning. Another hour, then he’ll head home. He stands up, heading out of the filing room into the main office of the clinic. It’s fairly small, with two doctor’s office rooms, a filing room, and then a reception area. The reception area has a front desk where Enai usually works, greeting guests. Sometimes he’ll help, if they’re particularly busy, but most of his time is spent in the filing room.
Her radio is on the desk next to her computer, so he leans over to click it on as he goes, figuring some background noise won’t do any harm as he works. He pulls out a few hundred yen, stepping up to the vending machine, considering his options.
The radio starts up, an old thing that takes a few seconds to click on properly, and then tunes into the news. A woman newscaster starts talking. “... All Might is–I don’t know how else to say this, folks, All Might is shrunken and almost… desiccated before the villain, skin and bones. I don’t understand; I don’t think any of us do,” the newscaster says, sounding panicked.
Natsuo stares at the yen in his hands, uncomprehending. All Might is… what?
“Is he… Is he beaten? The Symbol of Peace? It can’t be.”
What the fuck did he miss?
“The villain is taunting All Might, but–someone is leaning out of the rubble! A civilian! She’s calling to All Might, and he seems to be… bolstered. Everyone in the studio is yelling, cheering for All Might. Come on, All Might! You can beat him!”
Natsuo shoves his money back in his pocket, grabbing his phone again. No notifications, not even a text from Fuyumi telling him to check the news. He’s not… entirely surprised, based on how their last conversation went, but come on. It sounds like something kind of cataclysmic is happening. “Beat who?” Natsuo mutters. He clicks around, looking for a live feed until he sees a zoomed in picture of All Might, he guesses, and some villain who looks like hell crawled backwards out of the ground and decided to grace the world with its presence.
Also, half of Kamino Ward is on fire.
Great.
He really thinks someone could have texted him.
He’s been fairly busy with his internship and with college for the last six or seven months, so he hasn’t had the best opportunities to make friends, and it’s not like he’s close with his family, either, but still. He has some friends and acquaintances that he talks to on a fairly regular basis. Did no one think of him at all?
“Other heroes are here to help All Might rally! He’s fighting back! And–wait, he’s done something–there’s too much smoke, we can’t see!”
Natsuo leans forward, watching his phone, eyes narrowed to try to see.
“And there he is, with–”
Fwooooooosh. Click. The radio turns off.
“Are you the only one here?” a cracked, rough voice asks as four fingers close around his throat. Natsuo flinches hard, his phone flying from his hands, skidding under the vending machine. His eyes shoot up to the vending machine in front of him, then a little higher to the mirrored panel above it, where the security cameras are supposed to be.
The ones he knows aren’t actually there, because this clinic is too low-budget for that.
In the panel, he sees the man standing behind him. The man is a little shorter than Natsuo but a lot smaller with a narrow frame. The slight warping of the mirror keeps him from seeing too many details, but he can see that the man has white-blue hair and what looks like hands latched onto his body at several different points.
Behind him, a black and purple void swirls, some kind of portal.
Natsuo swallows. “... No,” he lies.
The man cocks his head to the side, like he’s waiting for something. “Then why aren’t you sounding an alarm?” he asks.
Right. He should scream, or try to warn whoever else is here if he’s not alone. He opens his mouth like he’s going to, and the man shakes him slightly by the back of his neck. “Shut up. I already know you’re alone, you gave yourself away, healer,” he says. “No point in making a bunch of noise now.”
He could try anyway. There’s no one walking past this late at night, though, and it’s more likely to just annoy this man. “What do you want?” he asks uncertainly.
“Isn’t it obvious? I just called you a healer,” he says impatiently. “One of my party members is injured. Grab some supplies. You’re coming with me.” He pauses. “Grab a lot of supplies, actually. You’re probably not coming back.”
That is a patently bad idea. Natsuo knows that’s a patently bad idea. Letting a kidnapper take him to a second location is a way to guarantee he’ll never come back. He should fight back, probably. The guy behind him is intimidating as hell, and he’s scared out of his mind right now because why the fuck is this guy wearing hands, but the guy is smaller than him. He can break out of this hold, body check this guy back into whatever portal this is and bolt.
The door is down a stairwell and out into the street, though, and then it’s another half kilometer before he could reasonably hide somewhere or get to where people are; he’s in the business section of town and most of these businesses are closed. If he decides to pursue, he won’t have much trouble with that warp Quirk on his side.
“If I say no?” he tries.
The man tilts his head. “Do you not know who I am? You were just listening to a radio show about my group, healer,” he says, looking amused. He reaches out with his free hand, slowly putting his fingers on the radio one at a time. It crumbles to dust in his hands when he drops the fifth. He tightens his four fingers on Natsuo’s neck slightly, wiggling him as if to make a point.
Fuck.
This is the same group that kidnapped that kid. Shouto’s friend, the feral one from the Sports Festival. So, the faceoff with All Might was… what, them trying to rescue that kid? Do they still have the kid? Is that why they need him? Is there an injured kid that needs help?
“Okay,” he says slowly. “Who needs healing?” he asks.
“You’ll find out,” the man says.
“I need to at least know what I’m going to be treating to make sure I get the right supplies,” he presses. He knows first aid in practice. Everything else he knows, he knows in theory, and God, he hopes that’s enough because he’s not about to tell this villain that he’s only a student because he thinks that he might get turned to dust on principle.
“Burns,” the man says. “Hurry up.”
He hesitates. “Can you–will you let go so I can get what I need?” he asks. “It’ll be difficult to grab everything if you’re holding onto me like a scruffed dog.”
He watches the man jerk his chin up in the mirror. In surprise, maybe? Offense? He doesn’t know. “... Alright, but if you try anything, healer, I’ll high five your chest, and you can see what it’s like to decay from the ribs,” he says, sounding almost gleeful at the prospect.
Natsuo shudders violently. “Noted,” he says, fighting to keep his voice even despite the way his heart thunders in his ears. The man lets go, following Natsuo as he walks into Dr. Moriji’s office. He grabs a bag from one of the cabinets, setting it on the bed, and then sets to grabbing supplies. Burns, burns. What does he need for burns? Burns are basic, he learned burns inside and out early on because of his background; he’s just panicking, and panic is not helpful right now.
“Focus, idiot,” he whispers to himself, staring at the cabinet of supplies, hands shaking. Disinfectant. Antibiotic cream. Some kind of painkiller. Gloves. Something to get debris out of the wound. He grabs several bottles of disinfectant liquid, tubs of antibiotic cream, boxes of gloves, a few boxes of tools. He stares at the cabinet where the regulated drugs are, debating. “Can you disintegrate that lock?” he asks, pointing. “I don’t have the key.”
“Are you not the doctor here?” the man asks, narrowing his eyes.
Shit, he doesn’t want to seem not useful. There’s no way he’s going to float being a full doctor to anyone with sense if this guy runs with a group, not with his looks and age. But he might be able to float having an EMS certification, or something along those lines, something that only takes two years instead of a full eight. A nurse won’t work, that takes four years.“I’m an EMT,” he lies quickly. “I volunteer here on the side. The owner keeps the keys with him, and that cabinet has all of the controlled substance painkillers and a few of the heavier antibiotics that I need if you want to keep your party member from getting an infection or feeling like they got burned to a crisp,” he explains tersely.
The man tips his chin up again, like he’s offended. Natsuo really needs to get his mouth under control before this guy kills him.
He doesn’t answer, just reaching out to crumble the door to dust. He grabs a number of those bottles, squinting at labels before tossing them in.
“Is that a staple gun?” the man asks, pointing.
“Yeah, for minor fixes,” Natsuo mumbles distractedly, trying to make sure he has everything. He turns to the drawer, emptying out all the gauze into the bag. He grabs another bag, getting all of the tape to secure the gauze, too. He’ll have to change it frequently.
“Grab that. And all the staples you have. Plus any syringes you have.”
“... What?”
“Don’t ask questions. Just do what you’re told,” he says.
Right. Hostage. He tosses them in the bag. He adds in other supplies, because the idea of not having something he needs to treat Shouto’s friend if he’s hurt, or a villain in a nest of villains who will kill him if he doesn’t get out alive makes him painfully anxious. It does occur to him that he’s stealing from his workplace to maybe treat villains, and that’s… not exactly moral. But a glance up at the man standing in the doorway says he’s not going to make it past him without getting that promised high five.
“You could try to make a run for it,” he says idly, guessing his line of thought. His grin splits so wide that he can see it on either side of the hand. “I’ll just kill you, take the supplies, and go pick up another healer.”
Natsuo zips up the bag decisively, hauling them both over a shoulder. “Right. Ready when you are, then,” he says hoarsely.
“Kurogiri,” the man barks. The portal swirls again, appearing in the center of the room, and the man steps over to wrap his hand around the back of Natsuo’s neck again, walking him through.
· · ───ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ─── · ·
Natsuo’s never been through a portal before. If he had the choice, he’d rather not go through one again, frankly; he’s disoriented by the lurching feeling in his stomach, the way the world spins in front of him. He barely steps through when the man shoves him down into a bow, something flying over his head to embed into the wall behind him with a solid thunk.
“Oh! Welcome back!” a bright voice chirps. “Thought you were a hero!”
“Toga, you almost killed our newest asset,” the villain says flatly. “Keep your knives to yourself.”
… That was a knife?
Natsuo looks up, alarmed. The portal’s taken him to some kind of abandoned house; they’re in the living room, under a sagging roof with a creaking floor and shabby furniture. Toga is a girl who looks like she can’t be any older than Shouto with bright blonde hair and golden eyes; her school uniform seems to support that idea. She’s playing with a switchblade, looking at them with interest, and that’s… unnerving. Behind her is a taller man with black hair and blue eyes. Natsuo’s immediately sure this must be who he’s here to see, and he’s also sure there’s nothing he can do for him because Jesus. Every inch of visible skin on his arms is burned, as is his neck and under his eyes. What isn’t burned is pallid and pale. The pale skin and the burned skin are roughly jammed together with staples, like he couldn’t get a proper graft and just decided to make it work in the least healthy way possible.
Natsuo jerks into a standing position, horrified, and the man yanks his hand away.
“Are you trying to get dusted? The hell are you doing?” he grouses.
“The staples are for you?” Natsuo demands. “Absolutely not; you need actual medical care. Grafts, at the very least, not more staples–why in the hell do you think staples are a proper–”
“Why the hell did you bring him here, Shigaraki?” the burned man growls in a low rasping voice, holding a hand out to Natsuo. His voice sounds like he probably has some kind of lung damage, too. Jesus. How is he still alive?
Shigaraki cocks his head. “Not sure why you think you get a say in who I bring,” he says flatly. “He was in a clinic. We needed a healer for Spinner. I got one.”
“He’s like nineteen. There’s no way he’s a real doctor,” the burned man scoffs.
“Said he’s an EMT,” Shigaraki says, rolling his eyes. The burned man stares at him, brows pinched slightly like he doesn’t believe him. “You’re not the only one who can recruit players, Dabi,” he says, annoyed. “Where’s everyone else?”
“Magne’s with Spinner. Twice is asleep. Compress is getting supplies to fix up the TV with ‘Giri,” Toga counts off.
“Great. C’mon, healer. We’re going to the bedroom,” he says, grabbing him by the scruff again. He grimaces at the tight hold, shoulders hunching. His eyes are still on Dabi, assessing his burns on autopilot, and that’s the only reason he notices the way his entire body jerks, his eyes snapping to the hand at Natsuo’s neck, teeth gritting for a second before he relaxes.
Interesting.
Does Dabi not like that Shigaraki is taking hostages? Maybe Dabi is softer than him. Maybe he can leverage that? He doesn’t know, but he tucks it away as Shigaraki marches him toward the hall. The bedroom doesn’t have a door, so he sees the body on the bed before they step in. Someone is lying facedown on the bed, shirt off to show an expanse of patterned green scaling marred by a wound just under his shoulder blade on the left side of his back.
Thank fuck they don’t expect him to do anything about Dabi.
On the other hand, it looks like they did just about everything wrong with this burn that they could. It looks like they pulled off his shirt, and he can see signs where it looks like they might have put ice on it as he gets to the side of the bed.
“Did you ice this?” he asks, grimacing.
“Idiots did it before I could stop them,” Dabi says from the hall. “It was only for a few minutes.”
“Future reference. Burns don’t get ice. You also don’t take clothes off of them if you don’t know what you’re doing,” he says, frowning.
“So, you know what you’re doing with this, then?” Shigaraki asks, flicking his gaze between Natsuo and Spinner’s back with interest.
Natsuo takes a deep breath. “... Do you still have the kid that you kidnapped?” he asks firmly.
Shigaraki tightens his grip to the point of pain. “Why are you asking questions that don’t concern you?” he demands.
Natsuo takes a little wheezy breath. “Need to know who all I’m–going to be taking care of. Is there a kid here, too?” he asks.
His eyes narrow. “... No,” he says flatly.
“Shigaraki,” a low voice says. “C’mon, let go. He’s trying to help.”
A long pause. He lets go, and Natsuo takes a breath, running a hand over his throat. He’s going to bruise. He looks over at the person who spoke. She’s tall, taller than he is, maybe as tall as Endeavor, actually, with a strong jaw, sunglasses, and soft brown hair pulled back into a ponytail.
“Hi, there, sweetheart. I’m Magne,” she says, waving. “What’s your name?”
Shigaraki blinks. “... Good question. What is your name, healer?”
“You didn’t even ask?” Dabi demands.
“It didn’t come up!” he argues, annoyed.
Natsuo tries to think through the shrieking panic in his brain. He should give an alias of some kind, right? He shouldn’t give his name. He should think of something clever and witty, or even just different.
“Well? What’s your name?” Shigaraki demands. “It’s not a hard question.”
“Uh–Natsuo,” he blurts.
Fuck, he’s an idiot.
“Full name,” he clarifies, irritated.
He’s not handing Shigaraki the last name Todoroki, but he can’t think of a better name on the fly; what does he do? What does he do?
“Natsuo Himura,” he says quickly.
Dabi makes a choked sound almost like a laugh. He hopes Dabi isn’t some kind of obscure-hero-fanboy-turned-villain who would know what Endeavor’s wife’s maiden name is. Natsuo sets down the two bags on the dresser next to Magne.
“Nice to meet you, sweetheart,” Magne says, tipping down her sunglasses to wink at him. He flushes, looking down at his bags. “Should I just call you Himura?”
“Natsuo’s fine. Everyone usually just calls me Natsuo,” he mumbles, unzipping the bag to pull out all of the supplies he needs to assess and treat a burn.
“Natsuo it is, then,” Magne says, sounding pleased.
“What’s your Quirk, Himura?” Shigaraki demands.
Fuck, another question he should have been prepared for but wasn’t. He stills over the supplies, thinking hard. “It’s nothing special,” he says.
“Obviously, or you would have used it to get away. Tell me anyway.”
“I have ambient temperature control,” he lies. “I can just make myself a few degrees cooler.” He can do that, but he also has the ability to press that further and freeze up to a few meters from himself if he needs to. Keeping that to himself seems… prudent, though.
He leans forward, interested. “Really? Do it.”
“You wouldn’t be able to really… see a difference?” Natsuo says, blinking. “It’s only inside. My own temperature changes, I guess,” he says.
Dabi snickers again, and Natsuo flicks a glance at him again. His face is unreadable, not giving anything away.
Shigaraki puts the back of his hand to his forehead. “Go on. Do it,” he insists.
Natsuo stills, meeting his expectant gaze. The back of his hand is warm. He focuses, pulling his temperature down slowly, degree by degree, until he’s about ten degrees cooler. He exhales frost, grimacing slightly at the chill settling into the back of his throat. “Satisfied?” he asks.
His eyes are wide in delight. “Interesting. And that’s all you can do? You could definitely do more,” he says, frowning.
“I haven’t practiced with it. There was no reason for it. My Quirk isn’t exactly relevant to what I’m doing for a living,” he says quietly. “... Can I help your friend now?”
“Not my friend. Party member,” Shigaraki clarifies flatly, pulling his hand back. “Go on. Show the skills you have put some points into, then.”
Natsuo takes a breath, turning back to Spinner. “Is there somewhere I can wash up or something?” he asks, making an absent scrubbing motion with his hands. “I need clean water.”
Shigaraki looks around. “... Not really,” he says blandly. “Not like there’s running water in here. Should’ve brought bottled if you needed it.”
He takes a steadying breath. “Alright. I’ll make it work,” he mumbles. He pulls out the disinfectant bottles (not nearly enough if there’s no fucking water here, something he hadn’t even considered). “... Do you care about the floors in here?” he asks hesitantly.
Shigaraki stares at him. “Are you stupid?” he asks, looking around at the very dilapidated and broken down house.
“Fuck right off,” Natsuo bites back without thinking about it. He freezes, and Shigaraki leans back, blinking. Dabi barks out a laugh, loud and echoing, and Spinner snickers into the bed. Natsuo hadn’t realized he was awake.
“... Like this’un, Shig’raki,” Spinner mumbles, eyes slipping shut.
“Okay, I need space,” Natsuo says. He unscrews the disinfectant, dumping some on his hands and a fair bit on the floor on accident, then scrubs his hands together quickly, waving them to dry them off before dragging on a pair of gloves. He drops to his knees next to the bed, leaning forward to get a better look at the wound. “Spinner, are you awake right now?” he asks clearly.
“Yea,” he mumbles.
“Great. I’m Natsuo. I’m going to assess, clean, and bandage your wound. Tell me if something hurts, and answer questions I pose to you as honestly as possible, please. I only care about making sure that you’re taken care of as well as possible; nothing else matters,” he says firmly.
Spinner’s eyes open again, training on him. They’re an odd pink color, pupils slit like a gecko’s. “... yeah, right,” he mumbles. “S’what they all say.”
Natsuo’s brows furrow. “Well, I mean it. Before I get started, do you have any allergies?”
“No,” he says.
“Are you on any drugs, prescription, or otherwise?”
Spinner cocks his head like he’s considering the answer. “... No.”
“Does your answer change if your boss kidnapped me, and I literally cannot report you for being on drugs?” he deadpans.
Spinner blinks, then lets out a laugh. “... Yeah. I had two oxys like fifteen minutes ago.”
“Fantastic, that helps me not kill you,” he says with a smile. “Thank you for your honesty.” Spinner grins back.
Natsuo looks back to the wound. It looks almost like someone pressed a hand into his back and then exploded it. The outline of the palm is where the burn is the worst, probably close to third degree where the epicenter of the explosion came from. He has a sneaking suspicion of where this wound came from, and he can’t exactly blame the kid for doing what he had to to get away.
That being said, he has a duty of care, and he’s going to make sure Spinner is taken care of as well as he can. He grabs a topical numbing spray. “I’m going to spray the area with a topical numbing agent. It works by–”
“I don’t really care, to be honest. Just do what y’need to do,” Spinner says, waving a hand. His wide wave smacks Natsuo in the face on accident, and he grimaces. Right. Villain. Probably doesn’t care much about bedside manners.
“Great.” Natsuo sprays the area a few times. “Gonna start poking things. Start cussing if it hurts,” he says.
“Can do,” Spinner mumbles into the mattress.
Dabi snorts in the corner again. “You’re good at this,” he notes flatly, watching as he starts picking debris out of the wound quickly. It looks like he was wearing some kind white shirt and a thick gray fabric that got torn and baked into the burn in several spots.
“Sure,” he mumbles, distracted. “Spinner, still with me?”
“Yep,” he grunts. “Fuck you in particular.”
“Valid complaint. Believe it or not, it’s better if it hurts. If it doesn’t hurt, it’s nerve damage,” he says wryly. “You’re teetering on the edge of third degree here.”
Shigaraki leans forward to look, his fist braced on Natsuo’s shoulder. “Is it that bad?” he asks, interested.
“I need space to work, Shigaraki,” he says brusquely. “Do you want me to be able to fix this or not?”
“Don’t get mouthy, Himura,” he warns.
“Sorry,” he says, though it’s hard to actually be sorry when he’s in his focused, working headspace. He’ll be sorry and terrified later. He’s worked on burns the most, thanks to Endeavor. He helped Touya clean up his all through childhood, and he’s helped Shouto with a number of his burns, too, but never any this bad. Everything he knows about these are hypothetical.
Natsuo is pretty good at faking it, at least, apparently. He shifts, examining the wound. “Does someone have a flashlight? The lighting in here is terrible,” he says. “I can’t see if I got everything.”
“Yeah, hang on,” Magne says. A moment later, her phone flashlight flicks to life overhead.
“Can you angle it just a bit–yeah, that’s perfect,” he says, leaning forward to look more closely. He picks out a few more pieces.
“Fuck,” Spinner hisses. Actually hisses at him.
“Let it out if you need to. Cussing helps; research has proven it, actually,” Natsuo says. “Just try not to move too much.”
That seems to be all the permission he needs, letting out a stream of profanity as he works. Once it’s clear, he gently works in an antibiotic cream, Spinner tensing up under his hands.
Magne hums. “Let me know if you need anything, sweets.”
Natsuo assumes that she’s talking to Spinner. He thinks it’s kind of sweet, actually, that they’re clearly friends. Maybe they’re more than friends, since she was here with him when he got here? He’s not sure what anyone’s dynamic is.
“Don’t be rude,” Dabi snaps at him from the corner. “She’s talking to you.”
“He’s busy! He’s not being rude,” Magne objects.
“Oh! Sorry, I didn’t realize that you meant me,” Natsuo says, startled. “I’ve got it, thank you for offering. I’m just about done,” he says quickly.
“Fuck you, holy fuck,” Spinner wheezes as he puts a patch of gauze in place, gripping the edge of the bed so tightly that his claws go straight through the mattress.
“Shhh, shhh, it’s okay,” Natsuo soothes. “Almost done, sorry, sorry,” he murmurs. He grabs some of the tape designed for scales and nails and secures the gauze that way.
He leans back on his haunches, exhaling heavily. “... How’s that feel, Spinner?”
Spinner huffs a breath, assessing. “... Better,” he says.
“Alright. Be careful with it. Sit up for me; I’ll wrap it up a little bit better so you can go to sleep, and then we can change it in the morning,” he says. Spinner sits up carefully, and Natsuo leans forward to wrap a thin layer of bandages around him, keeping the wound secured. “I have some other pain meds in my bag if you need them, but you can’t take any more until the morning at the earliest,” he says sternly.
Spinner nods. He turns to face Natsuo, appraising him curiously. This close, his features are clear. His face lengthens slightly like a lizard’s, but his lips pull back to reveal a row of almost-human teeth with the exception of a few slightly sharper ones around his canines. His skin is a pattern of green scales, his brow slightly ridged. Even with the differences in facial structure, his expressions are probably the easiest to read of any of the villains in the room. He looks confused by Natsuo’s proximity, or maybe by his politeness.
“You don’t seem very phased by the fact that I’m…” He gestures to himself.
Natsuo sits back again, raising a brow. He saw, early on, that the medical system was unfair to groups of people. Papers rarely explained how to apply certain techniques to heteromorphic body types, and baked-in clauses against treating Quirkless individuals existed almost everywhere he looked. He had vowed a long time ago not to be one of the people who contributed to that kind of injustice; he would treat everyone as equitably as he was able and make sure he was as equipped to care for everyone as he could be. That meant a lot of extra hours studying, and a lot of rabbit holes to make sure he knew what to do for different types of wounds, illnesses, and Quirks. But it also meant he knew what to do in situations like this one, when the skin he was treating wasn’t exactly skin, but the human beneath it still needed help. He couldn’t regret a single late night in light of that.
“That you’re a villain?” he finishes with a wry smile. “I’m very phased, I assure you. You’re all terrifying. Your boss threatened to decay my ribcage about thirty minutes ago, and I’m still riding that adrenaline high. I’ll let you know when I crash.”
Spinner snorts. “Shigaraki,” he chides.
“You threatened to decay his rib cage to get him here?” Dabi asks, frowning.
Natsuo isn’t sure what he’s allowed to do right now. He settles for getting his things back in order, pulling off his gloves, putting caps back on bottles, re-cleaning all of the equipment, tucking it back in cases, putting it all back in the bags because he doesn’t know what else to do with his hands.
“I said that because he was gonna run,” Shigaraki grouses. “He’s huge, he would’ve laid me flat. I was expecting a small Nurse Joy type when I broke in, not a fucking tank.”
Natsuo looks up at him, blinking. Shit, he definitely could’ve gotten away. That sucks to know now.
“... I would’ve if I had to,” Shigaraki says, narrowing his eyes at Natsuo. “You wouldn’t have gotten away. You already saw me.”
“What, like they’re not going to know you were there?” he asks with a little laugh. “You kidnapped me. Someone will come looking for me at some point, you know,” he says.
Shigaraki shrugs. “They won’t find you.”
Natsuo swallows, his hands stilling on the zipper. He fixed Spinner! He proved he wasn’t useless! “... Are you going to kill me, then?” he asks, trying to keep his voice flat, trying to build up enough ice to freeze as many of them as they can without letting on that’s what he’s doing.
He blinks, confused. “Why would I kill you? You did what you were supposed to do,” Shigaraki says, annoyed. “We need a healer. You’re coming with us wherever we go. You just proved you’re halfway decent, and you’re not even all that annoying.”
Natsuo exhales, letting go of his temperature control, letting himself regulate back up.
“No. Bad idea. I don’t wanna drag around a random prisoner when we’re supposed to be laying low,” Dabi argues.
“Agreed,” Spinner says, frowning. “Why don’t we just drop him back off at the clinic?”
“Because he knows where we are, idiots.”
“I really don’t,” he says, because he doesn’t. Rundown house in the middle of somewhere isn’t really much of a lead.
“Shut up. You don’t get to weigh in on this,” Shigaraki snaps.
Magne huffs. “We can’t just keep him captive. What about his family?” she asks.
“Who’s going to come looking for you, then?” Shigaraki asks. He cocks his head, looking vaguely interested. “Would someone pay a ransom on you?”
Natsuo’s stomach drops.
The answer is… probably no.
He stares at the bag silently for a long moment, fingers locked on the zipper. Who would come looking for him? Surely his internship boss will report him missing when he doesn’t come in for work? He doesn’t have emergency contacts listed, though; he didn’t want to list Fuyumi and bother her, and he wasn’t going to list Endeavor. None of his professors are going to report him. How long will it take Fuyumi to notice? Surely she’ll notice soon. Fuyumi would report him missing.
Right?
He goes through the list of his friends, trying to pinpoint the last time he talked to each of them one by one. The last one was three days ago. He doesn’t think it was anything particularly substantial. He doesn’t think any of them would find it particularly strange if he fell off the map for a few days, or even a few weeks. They would just assume he was studying or something. But if he stopped showing up to class, maybe they would put two and two together.
“Himura,” Shigaraki snaps, not for the first time, Natsuo realizes distantly.
He realizes he’s hyperventilating.
“Get it together,” he growls.
“Sorry. Fuck. Sorry,” he gasps, leaning forward. He takes a deep, ragged breath, digging his nails into his palm until he can find something resembling calm.
He dropped his phone in the clinic office. Surely the clinic being in disarray and his phone being left behind will be enough to have him reported missing tomorrow. They’ll think it was signs of a struggle, and he’ll get reported missing tomorrow when someone comes in.
That’s what he’ll bank on.
“I’m not sure,” he says finally. “It depends on–who notices first. I don’t have any family,” he lies. “But you pulled me from my workplace. They’re bound to notice the mess and report it.”
“All your friends will notice,” Dabi says, crossing his arms.
Natsuo presses his lips together into a line to keep his bottom lip from trembling like he’s a child. “Yep,” he says tightly. “All of my many, many friends,” he mumbles, zipping the other bag.
How long did they have the kid from Shouto’s class? The summer camp was… three or four days ago. Erring on the side of caution, he’ll say four. Four days to track down this group and save a UA hero student.
Natsuo is… not a UA hero student, so he’s probably not going to field nearly as much attention or importance. He can probably count on maybe half of the resources they used to rescue that kid.
… A quarter of the resources. Maybe.
But they’ve found them once before, so he thinks they can find them again. Four days for a hero student, maybe eight days for him. He’ll estimate double the time before he’s rescued, assuming that his clinic reports him as missing in the morning.
His other options are that Shigaraki drops him back off at the clinic, in which case he won’t have to worry about it, or Shigaraki kills him, and, well… he won’t have to worry about it.
One thing at a time.
Toga pokes her head in. “Compress and Kurogiri are back!” she says.
“Perfect,” Shigaraki says, spinning on his heel to walk to the door.
“Oi. What are you planning to do with him?” Dabi snaps, jerking his chin to Natsuo.
“Oh, yeah. Do we have zip ties or something?” he asks blandly.
“You’re going to tie him up,” Dabi says flatly.
“He’s a hostage. What, you wanna just let him roam around?” he asks, annoyed.
“He fixed up my burn. He probably could’ve made that more unpleasant if he wanted,” Spinner points out. “Are you gonna cause trouble, Natsuo?”
Natsuo swallows. “No,” he says.
“Right, like we’re going to believe him,” Shigaraki scoffs. He leans out of the doorway. “Compress!” he calls.
The man who walks over is tall and well-dressed with a vest and bolo tie. He has a singed jacket over his arm and a mask in one hand, a cane in the other. “Yes, yes, hello,” he says. “Can’t even get in the door, can I?” He sets his things down on the dresser, then blinks at Natsuo. “Oh, who’s this?” He sweeps off his hat, bowing in greeting. He’s wearing a balaclava mask, so Natsuo can’t actually see most of his face, but he can see sharp brown eyes assessing him. “A new player for our merry band of misfits?”
“A medic that Shigaraki kidnapped,” Magne answers with a little snort.
Compress blinks. “Kidnapped?” he repeats. “After that just went so well with the UA student? This hardly seems like a well thought-out plan.”
Shigaraki waves a hand. “I grabbed him from a shitty low-brow clinic without cameras,” he scoffs. “He’ll be lucky if they bother to report him missing. Luckier still if the police actually investigate it in that area.”
That’s… also a point, actually. It isn’t a very well-off area, which is kind of why Natsuo chose it. He had hoped he would actually be able to help there. He was able to jump in and assist periodically, but the doctors never really seemed to like him very much, so it wasn’t nearly as often as he’d hoped to be able to. He’s not sure if it’s because they know who he is (even if he requested that they not tell anyone else on staff), or if he had done something wrong, but they never really seemed to warm up to him.
“Do you have cuffs or zip ties or something?” Shigaraki presses.
Compress pulls out a small blue marble, clicks his fingers, and spins around a pair of cuffs. “Are you sure this is the way to go about this?” He looks over Natsuo. “I really don’t think that–”
“I’m sure I’m tired of this dialog tree,” Shigaraki mutters, snatching the cuffs. He stomps over to Natsuo. “Hands behind your back.”
He had been kind of hoping for the zipties; he knows three different ways to get out zipties. Handcuffs are a little more complicated, especially if Shigaraki intends to keep his hands behind his back.
“At least put them in front,” Dabi interrupts, frowning. “If you leave his hands behind his back, he’s going to fuck up his shoulders. Do you want him to be able to do doctor shit or not?”
“Fine, turn around,” Shigaraki growls. Natsuo turns around, offering his wrists again. He clicks the cuffs on, a little too tight to be comfortable. “You’re with me, Himura. You stay in my sight until I say otherwise, got it?” he says, narrowing his eyes.
He nods uncomfortably. He’s not a fan of that at all; the only one that seems to want to kill him wanting to keep an eye on him doesn’t really bode well for making it eight days. He follows him out of the bedroom, looking down the hall. There are a few more doorways. It looks like another bedroom and maybe a bathroom.
Toga hops over to his side. “Shigaraki said your name was Himura?” she asks.
“Call me Natsuo,” he mumbles.
She grins, bouncing in place. “Then you can call me Himiko!” she says brightly. “We’re gonna be friends, I can tell. You’re a doctor, right? Do you draw blood a lot?” Her eyes go a little hazy, like she’s deep in thought about the concept of drawing blood. It’s… disconcerting.
He blinks. “... The syringes must have been for you, then,” he says without thinking.
“You got me syringes?” she asks eagerly, snapping back to attention.
“Yes,” he says uncertainly. “A number of them. Shigaraki asked for them.”
“Thank you!” she yells, throwing her arms around him. He tenses, leaning away slightly in alarm. She doesn’t seem to notice, jumping around in excitement. “Thanks, Shigaraki! You always bring home the best things!” she chirps.
He’s… not sure if she’s talking about the syringes or him, frankly, and he’s not sure he wants to ask.
“Did you get everything to set up the TV, Compress?” Shigaraki asks, ignoring Himiko altogether.
Compress nods, fluttering his fingers and then producing three blue marbles from thin air. Natsuo is… kind of impressed, in spite of himself. He blinks, leaning forward.
“Cool,” he mumbles.
Compress grins, delighted. “Thank you. An attentive audience is always appreciated.” He clicks his fingers, releasing a generator, a bundle of wires, and some kind of device with antennas to get signal. Magne brushes past Natsuo with a quiet, “‘Scuse me, sweets,” and looks over the assortment.
“Is this what you need?” Compress asks, holding out his hands.
“Yep, this is perfect! Thanks, love,” she says, kneeling down to dig through the wires. She starts sorting them quickly.
Natsuo glances over at Shigaraki, who throws himself on the couch, then looks back over to Magne, stepping over to observe. “... What are you doing?” he asks curiously.
She glances up, smiling. “Setting up a signal so we can get some basic cable. We need to see what’s going on.”
“Why don’t you guys just use your phones?” he asks, tilting his head.
“Saving battery,” she explains. “Phones have more uses, and we need to be able to keep in contact. We’ll want a constant eye on the news, though.”
“Oh,” he says, nodding. “That makes sense.”
Watching her work, he’s impressed by how quickly and seamlessly she seems to be putting everything together. And then she uses her teeth to strip a wire, and his soul leaves his body for a second. “That is how you get electrocuted,” he says sharply. “Don’t do that!”
She looks up at him, startled, then barks out a surprised laugh. “Babe, you know we kidnapped you, right? You should probably be rooting for us to get electrocuted,” she says, winding two pieces of wire together. She hooks it into the generator, then into the TV, twiddling the power button. The generator kicks over with a low hum. It’s one of the newer ones, a nice one that runs on rechargeable battery packs or solar. He wonders where Compress stole it from, then decides he’d rather not know. Magne leans over, clicking on the TV, then starts adjusting the antennas until the news fuzzes into view.
“... confirmed from a close personal source that All Might is alive.”
Shigaraki sits up abruptly. “Move, Himura,” he growls. Natsuo stumbles out of the way of the TV quickly, heart hammering.
“But with the reports of his weakened state, and his final statement of ‘You’re next,’ what do you think that means for him, Kinoshita?” the news anchor asks, looking to his companion on the screen. A small clip plays of All Might, the small version, bloodied and gaunt, pointing at the camera as he says the phrase.
“Well, Ueshima, I think it means exactly what he says it does. He’s the Symbol of Peace, but it’s plain as day that he’s done, isn’t it? When he says ‘you’re next,’ he means that heroes have to pick up his slack. Maybe all of society. We’ve grown complacent, relying on him to keep all of the villains in line. Kamino made that clear.”
“So, you don’t think the number two hero, Endeavor, is up to the task?” he asks, clearly baiting.
Kinoshita laughs, throwing her head back. “Is that even a question?”
“He’s got the numbers, don’t get me wrong. But we all know he doesn’t have the personality. He’s no replacement for All Might. I don’t think we should expect anyone to be a replacement for All Might, honestly. We can probably expect some high scale chaos over the next few weeks while everyone tries to find a way to stand out, both on the villain side and the hero side.”
Natsuo lowers himself to the ground beside the couch carefully, trying not to throw himself off balance without his hands to brace himself. He watches the TV, eyes narrowed. If All Might is retired, then Endeavor is the de facto number one hero.
Which means he’s not going to notice Natsuo is missing, not anytime soon. Not that Natsuo really expected him to. It’s not like they really talk, but Fuyumi generally tries to get everyone together for dinner every few weeks. They’re due for another uncomfortable get together soon. He wonders if she’ll even bother trying with all of this going on, or if Endeavor will be so insufferable that she won’t want to attempt to reach out to anyone. Maybe she’ll just keep trying to assuage his rage and smooth everything over, like she always has, letting her life pass her by while she clings to whatever semblance of a family life they might’ve had if he could’ve been a good person.
Tragic, but ultimately not his problem.
Except for now, when it is his problem, because it means she won’t notice he’s missing.
He pulls his knees up, looping his cuffed arms over them as he watches the news anchors continue their conjecture.
Magne and Himiko settle into the chairs off to the side, watching the news, commentating quietly. Compress sits down at the table in the dining room, pulling out a deck of cards to shuffle, laying out what looks like a game of solitaire.
“Most of the villains ultimately escaped, so what did we even lose the symbol of peace for? A single villain? He was formidable, but was it worth it?”
Natsuo nearly falls over as the couch he’s leaning on disintegrates. “Sure, that was a reasonable reaction,” he mumbles.
Shigaraki is on his feet, staring at the TV. He scratches at his neck, his breath coming in quick little pants. “... A single villain?” he repeats. “Master isn’t a single villain.”
Natsuo looks at him blankly. Master. Shigaraki is… what, a disciple to the guy that took down All Might, then? What kind of guy is Shigaraki? How much trouble is Natsuo in right now? He bites his lip, looking away. His gaze happens to land on Dabi, who is… staring right at him, eyes narrowed. He looks angry, his eyes focused somewhere on Natsuo’s knees. Natsuo puts his forehead on his knees, hunching forward.
He’s not sure what he did, but Dabi seems to have decided to dislike him from the start. It seems to be a pattern for him. The only person who ever seemed to think he wasn’t doing anything wrong from the start was Touya. Touya had always told him he was doing fine, that there was nothing wrong with him, that Endeavor was the one who was wrong for ignoring him, that the boys in the neighborhood he couldn’t make friends with were wrong for not being able to see past his parentage to what he had to offer, that he wasn’t useless. Touya would’ve noticed that he was missing.
Touya’s not here, though, and hasn’t been for a long time.
Shigaraki is still muttering angrily about how his Master isn’t just a small-time villain when another villain walks out of a bedroom, yawning loudly. He’s tall, wearing a split black and white spandex bodysuit and mask. He’s stupidly muscular, and the body suit shows off the line of every single muscle. Natsuo does his best not to stare, but he definitely fails.
“Who’s that? Looks familiar! Never seen anyone like him before.”
He blinks stupidly.
“Shigaraki kidnapped a medic!” Himiko chirps.
“Will you stop telling people that?” Shigaraki barks irritably, still clawing at his neck.
“Oh. Why’d you kidnap him? He looks totally useless!”
Natsuo flinches. He’s heard that one before, but right now, raw as he is, it cuts deeper than usual.
“Twice,” Dabi snaps.
“Sorry! Ignore that, can’t help it. I totally can!” he says.
Natsuo shakes his head. “You’re fine,” he mumbles.
Himiko kneels down in front of him, smiling kindly. “Really, he doesn’t mean anything by it. He can’t help it.”
“It’s fine,” he says again. It’s not like he can actually complain about anything they say about him, can he? He’s literally handcuffed in their base with no idea where he is; it’s not like he can do anything about it. He puts his head back down, closing his eyes. Maybe it’s better if he just doesn’t make direct eye contact with anyone, if he just keeps his head down and does what he’s told. Maybe they won’t dislike him as quickly, and maybe he’ll be able to make it until someone comes to get him. Eight days at most.
“He’s a medic,” Shigaraki says irritably. “Spinner’s got that burn. We needed a support class. We’re DPS and tank heavy, and you know it.”
“Good plan, boss! He’s gonna get in the way!” Twice says.
God, he’s tired. He’s been up since about four in the morning, and it was rounding on one the next day when he got picked up by Shigaraki. It’s probably close to two now. He thinks his adrenaline is finally crashing now that he’s not being actively threatened with death, even if the passive threat still has his blood thrumming slightly.
“I know it’s a good plan. That’s why I did it,” he growls, annoyed.
“I think he fell asleep,” Himiko whispers loudly from her spot in front of him. “Shhh! Don’t wake him up. He looked so tired when he came back out here!”
“Don’t tell me what to do,” Shigaraki grouses, but his voice is quieter.
“Should he sleep like that? He’s all balled up,” Magne says quietly.
“Probably not. He’ll be fine!” Twice says. “Want me to put him in a bed?”
“Don’t touch him. I want him in my sight,” Shigaraki says firmly. “Leave him where he is. If his back hurts, it’s his own fault. He should have stretched out.”
“... He probably doesn’t want any of us touching him, anyway,” Magne adds quietly. “Better to keep our hands to ourselves.”
Natsuo’s not sure why Magne or Himiko seem to care. He’s glad Magne speaks up, anway. He doesn’t want any of them to touch him; he relaxes more fully when Himiko moves away. Their voices settle into background murmurs as they talk about the news, and the news itself keeps playing a near-constant commentary on All Might and his career, on how Endeavor will replace him, and on what happened at Kamino.
It’s quiet and just repetitive enough that Natsuo manages to slip into a fitful doze.