Archive of Our Own

She was being followed.

Era shivered, tugged her threadbare jacket tighter around her shoulders, and shoved her rising panic deep into a box where it belonged. It was still midday. People were shuffling about their daily lives around her, all loud, oblivious, witnesses. She could lose this tail before nightfall, certainly.

A glance in the reflection of a corner store window revealed the same, nondescript figure who’d been hot on her heels for the last several blocks, and Era grimaced beneath her medical mask. Too close to her hideout for comfort, which meant she needed to move. Again. Probably through the night, just to make sure she wasn’t tracked to yet another location.

It was lucky that she traveled light. Lucky that she kept her essentials on her at all times, tucked away in the tattered pack jostling against her back.

Lucky. Era could’ve laughed. That wasn’t typically a word she associated with herself, but desperate times, she supposed.

Weaving through a crowd, doubling back at a store, swiping a hat from a nearby stand… no. No, she was still being tailed. Fuck.

Era gritted her teeth as she picked up the pace. She didn’t recognize the man, which meant he was nobody important—and she was not getting dragged back to the dark by some no-name grunt. Her pride would not allow it.

Around a corner, quick detour through a grocery store, ignoring the suspicious glances from customers and staff alike as she beelined towards the small liquor selection. Her eyes darted over the bottles before settling on what looked to be a hefty sparkling wine, flicking up again when she heard the tinkling of a bell, chimes swaying where the door had knocked against them.

Era waited. Breathed. Forced the tension from her shoulders as she lazily scanned the shelves for nothing in particular, all the while keeping her hand close to her chosen weapon.

Maybe this would cause a scene, but at least it would get this asshole off of her. And, if everything went well, she could use the chaos to mask her escape.

She glanced at one of the many round mirrors set near the ceiling, noting how the cashier’s eyes were locked on her through the reflection. That was… probably fine. She was still wearing her facemask, and her hood was pulled up against the chill. Definitely suspicious, but also blessedly difficult to describe, should he give his statement to the police.

And he was absolutely going to call the police.

Her tail rounded a corner, and she watched his reflection attempt a casual sweep through the aisles.

Patience, bird. Fingers twitching towards the smooth glass, find the opening and strike.

Five aisles away. Then four. Three, and Era’s hand began to close around the neck of the bottle—

“Excuse me.”

Shit. Era did not flinch, but she did feel her shoulders jerk upwards before she forced them down.

A glance in the mirror. Two.

“Yeah?” Era answered easily, forcing her stance to remain loose as she turned towards the intruder. Her hand still brushed the bottle, eyes darting past the man’s shoulder to keep track of her tail’s reflection.

A sigh. Hand reaching up to sweep back a loose strand of blond hair, before traveling down to rest against a hip. “You are a minor, correct?”

“Mmhmm.” One aisle and closing. Fuck, and her fingers twitched again, legs aching with coiled tension.

“This section of the store is off limits to you. But I’m sure you know that.”

“Yep.” As he drew closer she could catch the faint outline of a gun tucked beneath her tail’s clothes, and fuck, but that made things just the slightest bit more complicated, didn’t it?

Another sigh. “Where are your parents?”

“Dead,” Era answered without inflection. She couldn’t help a grin at how he reeled back ever so slightly, even as her tail passed out of the next aisle over, hand reaching slowly for his waistband in a manner he must have thought was subtle. “Excuse me, sir. But I’m actually supposed to meet someone here.”

“What—”

Era’s hand closed around the neck of the bottle, whirling around to slam it into the man’s temple just as he rounded the corner. The glass shattered at the impact, spraying shards and sparkling wine as, across the store, there came a few startled shouts. Her tail collapsed, gun clattering from his hand to skid across the floor.

The promise of a weapon, a real weapon that she might keep by her as she slept, was enough to tighten her ribs around her lungs. Era let the broken half of a bottle fall and lunged for the gun—but as her fingers brushed the handle she felt the oddest tug, a resistance, as if several hands were dragging her back by the fabric of her jacket.

Well. That wasn’t good.

Era twisted against the force, desperately searching for her new opponent—but there was no one else, only her friend from Phoenix who was currently groaning on the floor, and this new man, who…

Oh. Fuck.

There was the luck she was so fond of. Jesus Christ.

Best Jeanist, fourth best hero in the country Best Jeanist, who she had just run into in a fucking grocery store because of fucking course—that Best Jeanist was facing her with his hand outstretched, a thoroughly unamused expression peeking out from beneath his scarf.

It really was a testament to her distraction that she hadn’t noticed sooner, even if he was in civilian clothes. The man’s face was plastered over enough billboards and magazines that it wasn’t exactly subtle. The quirk that now rippled through the threads of her clothes was just a confirmation.

“This, uh. This looks pretty bad, huh.”

Jeanist twisted his hand with a sigh, and Era’s feet skidded against the tile as he tried to drag her closer. “That is correct.”

“Well. Would you believe me if I said he started it?”

“Probably not. Although fortunately for you that is a jury’s responsibility, not mine.”

No, fucking no, she was not going down for something as stupid as this, no way in hell.

“Look.” Era tugged against the threads as hard as she could, wincing where they dug into her skin. “You don’t want this trouble. Trust me.”

Best Jeanist huffed, fingers twitching towards a fist. “You haven’t given me much of a choice, now, have you?”

Brat. Now look what I have to do.

Era twisted her snarl into a feral grin. “Yeah, well. Your funeral.”

She leapt forward, following the pull of the threads to fly through the air.

The look of shock on the hero’s face was the most satisfying thing she’d experienced in a long while.

The sound of her boot impacting his chest was a close second.

A soft thud, sweet exhilaration as they toppled—then Era was gone, springing from his chest towards a back door. She could already hear the wail of a siren in the distance, and she needed to be long gone before police arrived.

There was a familiar tightness in her sleeves. Era snarled, not bothering to glance over her shoulder. The door was right there, freedom brushing up against her fingertips, and Era let her jacket slip from her shoulders as she burst outside.

Good recovery time. Her feet skidded against the asphalt, eyes darting across the small alleyway to pick out the best route. Solution. Don’t let him recover.

Water, thick and burning in her lungs, and Era’s fingers twitched as she scrambled up the building’s façade. The memory of Sensei’s voice was enough to make her shudder.

Finish the job, bird. Worn-out boots slipping against concrete, but Era steadied herself. What, you think if you ask nicely, they’ll stay down?

She leapt towards the next rooftop, fractures splintering through her ankles before her quirk rushed in to fill the gaps. Bird. Anyone you leave alive, that’s another enemy. Yes? Another bullet with your name on it. No hesitation. No mercy. Now, again.

The impact jolted through her legs when she reached the next building.

Again.

Every breath was barbed wire snagging on her ribs.

Again.

The cold bit and burrowed, eating away all feeling in her fingers, flesh, sinew and bone until she was sure that nothing would remain. That she would look in a mirror and find a ghost staring back.

Again.

Era stumbled. Her feet were too numb to catch her, and the chill meant she did not feel the scrapes that raked her skin when she skidded across the roof.

Again. Her skull was buzzing, limbs too heavy to move as she struggled to focus on the encroaching night. Again, bird. Like a heartbeat, a war drum, the relentless tap of boots striking the floor. Again. Get up. Now.

She was shivering, Era realized. The wind cut more fiercely up here, without buildings or bodies to check it, and without her jacket she… she burned, feverish, like her blood was boiling her alive but- but she couldn’t move to save herself. Could do nothing but tug listlessly at her shirt where the fabric itched and blistered against her skin.

So it would be hypothermia, then. Era snorted as her head fell against the concrete, and she allowed her eyes to close. Really thought it would be hunger, this time.

At least she was out of sight. She’d knocked that tail out cold, and up here, on the rooftops, she would have noticed if anyone new was following her. That hero might have had his suspicions, but it seemed unlikely that she would ever see him again.

Era sighed. There was a panic, there, simmering in her gut to mingle with the pangs of hunger—but it was dull. Distant. Swallowed up by the bitter chill and the faint, smog-choked glimmer of stars above.

Hakamada Tsunagu was… put out? Embarrassed, even? It certainly wasn’t every day that Best Jeanist found himself knocked flat on his back by a child of all things, which might have explained his sour mood by the time he returned to his agency.

The ache at his sternum wasn’t helping matters. Tsunagu kept finding himself rubbing absently at the bruise, no doubt mottled and ugly and distinctly boot-shaped. Unsightly, was his first thought. Humiliating, was his second.

Still, he was nothing if not a professional. And this was not the first time he had experienced such a stumble, nor would it be the last.

Child, though. His mind snagged on that particular detail.

Given her clothes, actions, and general demeanor, Tsunagu couldn’t be sure of her age—but she was too young for the liquor aisle. Which made her far too young to be smashing bottles into people’s faces, not to mention the whole mess with the pistol.

In the aftermath, details clicked into place. Disparate threads only revealing their pattern upon stepping away.

She had been nervous. She had been waiting for that man, checking mirrors and corners and preparing to strike the moment he neared. And… the way she had lunged for that gun, the manic desperation, as if it were the sole stitch that might save her from unraveling…

Something was wrong. It didn’t take the number four hero to figure that out.

What could be done about it, however, was a separate matter entirely. Tsunagu was under no illusion about his role and specialties in heroics, and tracking down random, unknown children was not exactly within his skillset.

Luckily, he knew his strengths, as well as his weaknesses. Knew how to cover those weaknesses as well, how one strand of fiber easily snapped could find strength amongst its fellows.

In short, Tsunagu’s focus was primarily capture and crisis response. He was not the sort of hero who dealt in information, intelligence gathering, and tracking down a wayward villain’s location. But he knew who was, and that was the next best thing.

The true mark of a good wardrobe, after all, was variety.

She woke up. Again, bird. Inescapable.

Maybe Sensei would be proud, Era mused as she examined blue-tinged fingers. Of this, at least, her old teacher could be sure—those lessons had been stamped so surely into Era’s bones that even her quirk had warped to fit that instruction.

Again, bird, and her skin tingled painfully where it battled necrosis. Her mouth was dry, her stomach ached, and every muscle trembled with the effort of sitting upright.

At least the sun was up. It did little to chase away the chill, but it had warmed her enough that she could recover. Era rubbed what feeling she could back into her arms and stumbled to her feet, toes curling uncomfortably where the cold still ate through her nerves.

She was healing more slowly. Unacceptable, and Era’s fingers tightened around her arms. That was weakness, and one that she couldn’t afford. Even here, without any immediate consequence, it had cost her an entire night that would have been better spent running, putting as much distance as possible between her and Phoenix.

Food would help. A shame, then, that it was so difficult to come by. And doubly shameful that what few supplies she had scrounged up were ditched in favor of fleeing that hero.

“Fuck,” she said aloud to the empty air. It did nothing to uncoil the knot in her stomach, or to relieve the buzzing in her skull. But it was nice to talk. To taste the sounds on her tongue and remember that she could, that this wasn’t do not speak unless spoken to, bird.

“I could steal food.” Her fingers twitched at the thought, chill-numbed and clumsy, and Era grimaced. “Maybe. Maybe, I could… no. Not right now.”

The weakness was bitter on her tongue. But the threat of failure, that was more pressing. She couldn’t afford to be caught, not after causing such a scene.

“I could buy food…” But she would need money. Which she could steal—but then again, there was the exact same problem.

Era sighed, brushing over where the knives lay beneath her clothes, if only to settle herself. She began the slow, agonizing process of lowering herself into an alley, hands blistering wherever the un-frostbitten skin brushed against the frozen metal of the fire escape.

“I need money,” Era decided. Her feet hit the ground with an ugly crack, and a snarl caught against her ribs as she shook out an ankle. “But I can’t steal it. And I can’t get a job, probably…”

No. Era shook her head briskly, tugging at her shirt with a frown. Any job below board enough to not require ID was risky. She couldn’t afford police trouble, or hero trouble, or trouble trouble.

There was probably some kind of homeless shelter, soup kitchen, something she could leech off of—but even past the don’t deserve that festered in her stomach at the thought, Era wasn’t sure how such things operated. Or where they might be. Or if they would be perhaps a bit too accommodating to an unaccompanied minor who clearly hadn’t eaten in days.

She… she could beg.

Era lay there on the rooftop. The concrete’s chill seeped into her spine, and she imagined she could feel her stomach caving in on itself.

It wasn’t as if it would be a strange sight. Era had seen others do it, sitting on street corners and against the walls of subway stations, a hat or a bowl or a battered guitar case set out in front of them.

Her hand tightened to a fist, nails scraping where they dragged against the roof. The sun was bright. She couldn’t seem to keep herself from staring at it.

Era wasn’t very good at begging. Don’t give them the satisfaction, even when the knife swapped hands, and it was her teacher that pressed it to Era’s skin. Don’t give them the satisfaction—not then, not ever.

But she was nothing if not a quick learner. And sometimes, she knew, even the most bitter weakness gave way to necessity.

“Okay.” Era winced at the rasp of her voice, how it grated at a dry throat. Okay. She’d just scope out a place, make herself look small and weak and vulnerable and everything she was never meant to be—

Breathe. Era did. She forced her hand loose from where it had curled into a painful fist.

Problem and Solution. Simple, really. She couldn’t afford to lose herself to useless emotion—instead she would do what she had to, in order to survive. To keep a desperate step ahead of the dark.

And besides. Surely it couldn’t be that bad.

Well. This was terrible.

Era sighed, tugging her knees up to her chest and eyeing the measly assortment of coins and paper that were scattered in the—stolen—hat in front of her. This was a new low, surely. Every gaze that passed over her was thick with pity, raking across her skin and leaving thorns buried in her flesh.

But at least the day was almost done. And at least she had received a few, scant donations, although those interactions had been particularly grating.

She’d had to move a few times as well, which would normally be fine, but on a stomach as empty as hers it was exhausting. An officer eyeing her distrustfully, or someone else in search of charity edging her out. By the time the sky began to darken, Era found herself with her back against a tree in some local park, carefully counting out what she’d… well, she wouldn’t say earned.

It was distasteful. Demeaning, but also… god, she didn’t deserve it, did she? Those people hadn’t known who they were giving money to. A liar and a thief and a murderer—

“Hello? Are you alright?”

Era didn’t jolt, but her shoulders did stutter upwards before she managed to check them, gaze snapping towards the man who now stood over her.

He seemed… familiar, somehow. An itching sort of paranoia that insisted she should know him—

Era shoved the feeling down, but did not disregard it completely. Instead she offered up a smile, and a shrug.

“I’m fine.” She hesitated, judging the cut of his suit and the stern set of his jaw, before adding a stilted, “Sir.”

The man frowned, pushing his glasses up his nose before leaning forward the slightest bit. “Are your parents around?”

“Ah.” Era twisted her grimace into a sheepish grin. “Yeah, they’re gonna be picking me up soon.”

“Of course.” He did not believe her. Era subtly shifted her weight beneath her, tensing when he reached out a hand. “Let me help you up.”

No, no, she would very much rather not. “Thanks! I’m gonna sit here for a little bit, though. Wait for them. You know how it is.”

He withdrew his hand, and Era bit back a relieved sigh. The man straightened, tugging on his suit jacket before looking around. “Do you have their phone number? It’s getting late.”

“With all due respect, sir,” Era managed through gritted teeth, “I don’t really see how that’s your business.”

“You are a child sitting in a park, alone. It’s cold. And it’s getting dark out.” The man crossed his arms. “That does, in fact, make it my business. Do you know your address? I have a car, I could drive you home.”

“Wow. Yeah, I’ll just get into some strange man’s car. That sounds like a great idea.”

“That…” the man sighed. “I suppose that’s fair. What would you suggest, then?”

A growl threatened to build in Era’s throat. “I’d suggest you leave me the fuck alone. Sir.”

The man actually snorted at that. “You know, adding sir doesn’t make it any more polite.”

“Cry about it.”

“You’re not making a very good case for yourself.” The man sighed, leaning down once again, but before he could quite reach Era’s level she scrambled to her feet. He raised a brow but stood up straight to match her. “Look, how about you just tell me your name.”

“You first,” Era spat.

“I’m not your enemy. I promise.” He reached out again, clearly aiming to lay his hand against her shoulder. Era shifted back so that it fell through empty air. The man’s frown deepened. “We can wait here for your parents, together. And when they come, you can tell them all about the weird stranger who wouldn’t stop harassing you.”

He stepped into her space, more quickly than she’d have expected from a well-dressed salaryman. Era stumbled back but was unable to dodge the hand that fell against her arm, fingers wrapping around her wrist and anchoring her in place.

“But I think we both know you haven’t been completely honest with me.”

She snarled, eyes darting up to meet his—and her chest tightened, ribs creaking with the force of her realization as his eyes seemed to flash a faint, almost unnoticeable purple behind his glasses.

That last shred of data falling into place, and suddenly the picture became clear.

It was a testament to her daze that Era’s first thought was simply, I didn’t know Sir Nighteye’s quirk required touch to activate.

Her second was to send the heel of her palm crashing into his sternum.

He saw it coming, of course. Almost managed to dodge it too.

There was a satisfaction in his pained wheeze, doubling over as she forced the air from his lungs—but Era didn’t take the time to gloat. She needed to make distance, and fast, because one lucky strike didn’t mean it was worth fighting a man who could literally see her next move.

Era had no idea how long Foresight lasted. But she figured that—as her feet pounded against the hardpacked dirt of the park, still solid with frost—even if he knew where she was going, he’d still have to catch her.

Era was good at running. Had to be. So while the idea of a nightlong chase wasn’t exactly appealing, it was well worth it if it meant shaking Sir Nighteye.

Harsh breaths escaped through gritted teeth, fogging the air as the cold already raked furrows across the inside of her lungs. Fucking Nighteye, what the hell had she done to deserve him on her tail?

Behind her, she heard the faint scuff of shoes across grass. She didn’t bother checking over her shoulder—it wasn’t as if what she saw would change anything. Either he was following or he wasn’t, and either way there was only one Solution to that mess of a Problem.

Run. Always. Even when her fingers went numb, when the scrape of concrete bit and bled against her palms, when her ankle nearly rolled out from under her after a particularly nasty jump. Through alleyways, across rooftops, ducking into abandoned buildings.

God, did it even matter, though? Sluggish with the cold, Era took a tumble onto the next rooftop and bit back a groan when new scrapes and bruises wriggled with the effort of her quirk. Again, bird, and she sprung up just as quickly, forcing herself ever onward into the night.

If Nighteye could see the future, could see her future… then he could see where she would be. Right? He could cut her off, certainly, intercept her no matter how far she fled…

Fuck, fuck, she should’ve just ended it in the park. Should’ve sunk a blade into his throat instead of slamming a palm against his chest.

So stupid. Childish, weak, she was weak, Sensei’s voice close and harsh against her ear because I’m losing patience, bird, because don’t play with your food, because every man you leave alive is another enemy. Remember that.

Lessons that wouldn’t stick, had maybe never stuck. And she’d thought herself such a good student, back then.

Era hadn’t noticed she had slowed until her feet where dragging against asphalt and her hand was trailing along the bare brick of an alley wall. She blinked, blearily glancing up to see faint moonlight peeking out from between two rooftops. She blinked, and her knee was hitting the pavement, no burst of pain flowering out from the impact as she might have expected.

Fucking hell, was it the cold again? Her teeth were chattering, and- she couldn’t seem to make them stop. No amount of tightly wound control could still her jaw, or force her legs to move under her command, and that was- that was weakness, right? She was Firebird, she was Katori, she- she could do this.

Or maybe it was hunger. Her chest felt… wrong. Concave, almost. Like her ribs had twisted outwards to slice through her stomach. And the world would not stop spinning beneath her hands, even as she blinked, hard, in a bid to make it still.

Then again, what did it matter? Why did there have to be a reason, anyway? Era would die, it would suck, and then she’d pop back onto her feet to die all over again. That was good, that was proper—the cause was irrelevant.

For a moment, staring down at her own hands where they held her up, she wished that she could drag herself towards a wall. Give herself that dignity, at least, instead of lying sprawled among discarded bottles in the middle of a grimy alleyway.

Her trembling arms gave way, and Era felt a hot burst of something where her chin hit the ground—but it was dull. Numb. Accompanied only by the crunch of glass and the soft thud of flesh.

Did her mouth taste of iron? Or was that just her tongue, too heavy in her mouth? Era tried to wrinkle her nose, but it was difficult to tell if she was successful.

As consciousness faded, she let her thoughts drift towards Nighteye. Panic was as distant as pain, right then, but she did wonder what this would mean for his quirk. If this might just save her, if seeing her dead in some derelict alleyway would be enough to get him off her ass.

Era tried to snort, but the air had frozen in her lungs. I’m never that lucky.

Sasaki wasn’t quick to panic. Tsunagu appreciated that about the man, and hoped the feeling was mutual. He considered himself a calm, level-headed hero—a necessity to maintain his ranking over his years as a pro.

Sasaki, though… with a quirk like his, Tsunagu assumed it wasn’t worth it to worry about particulars. To fret and fray over a situation that could not be changed, but could still be dealt with.

So when Sasaki called him up at around 8pm, and from his mobile phone no less, Tsunagu could be sure that the situation was bad. That the dread prickling in his fingertips was more than merited, an intuition that had seldom failed him.

“Jeanist.” Sasaki didn’t even bother to wait for a greeting. Another bad sign. “I’m texting you an address. You need to send a medical team to that location, immediately.”

Tsunagu did so almost without thinking and reached out to tug his hero costume from its drawer for good measure, weaving the threads around himself as he set the phone to speaker. “Done. What should they expect?”

“Hypothermia, I think, possible malnutrition, it’s hard to pin…” And Sasaki paused. A sound that Tsunagu now recognized as shoes pounding against pavement fell away. “Cancel the medical team.”

Now that. That was strange.

Despite himself, Tsunagu felt his heart stutter. The only reason to cancel medical care would be…

He took a breath, sorting out the final touches of his costume before snatching up his phone again. “Nighteye, even if it’s… the medical team would still be prudent.”

“No. Cancel them. I can’t… this is difficult to explain. That location I sent you, get there as soon as you can. Be ready for a fight.”

“Nighteye—” And Sasaki hung up. Tsunagu stared down at his phone in quiet bewilderment.

This kind of behavior was not only unusual, but unprecedented. And while Sasaki was not quick to panic and Tsunagu would like to consider himself the same in that regard, he couldn’t deny the insidious emotion that wriggled in his lungs and snagged against his ribs.

Still. He was a professional. Tsunagu took a moment to compose himself, then studied the address that Sasaki had sent him more closely. It wouldn’t take too long to reach, especially if he used his quirk to navigate.

The ground was moving. Pavement sliding beneath her cheek.

There was a drum in her head, pounding away without a care to how exhausted she was, how desperately she wished to cling to that last shred of pseudo-rest before the bitter cold leeched back into her bones and she could feel again. Scrape of asphalt, thump of her shallow heartbeat, the relentless pounding of blood in her ears.

The ground moved again, and Era watched in blurry fascination as a shard of glass caught against her arm, digging scarlet into the skin. It was warm. Bright red. She flexed a hand as if she might be able to catch the drops.

Above her, there was a muttered curse. “Gun. Gun gun gun—”

“On it.”

There- that was a pistol, pressing against the back of her skull and fuck she recognized that voice she knew what this was she needed to—

A gunshot, even suppressed, had the tendency to carry. As it was Tsunagu couldn’t find it in himself to be surprised at the direction it came from, only wary as to who could possibly be wielding it.

That girl again, perhaps? He had asked Sasaki to look into it, and he assumed that was what this whole mess was about, since the man had called him instead of his own agency. And, of course, she had practically lunged for that pistol back in the grocery store.

Who would she be firing at, then? A frown tugged at his lip, and Tsunagu quickened his pace, threads swinging him down until his feet lightly touched the pavement and he began to rush forward, down the street. Surely not Sasaki? Although… desperation could make people quite foolish.

Whatever he had been expecting when he rounded the corner towards the address, it certainly wasn’t the scene he was greeted with.

There wasn’t much time to think. Threads already tightening in his grasp because night had fallen in full force, now, and the lights in this particular stretch of street were out, so he couldn’t be sure, there was no way to be sure, best not to jump to hasty conclusions—

What it sure appeared to be, though, was two figures dragging a third behind. Dark, splotchy trail in their wake. Gun held loosely in the hand of one, while the other looked up with sharp eyes that flashed, even in the dim light.

Tsunagu reached forward to feel the fibers twist at his command. He didn’t let the dread that festered in his gut spill over, nor did he allow himself a second’s hesitation at the gruesome scene.

Because it was dark. And there was no way to be sure of what he was seeing.

But these two were definitely dragging a child across the asphalt, and that child was definitely leaving a bloody smear in her wake.

There was little room for interpretation, there.

Secure the civilian first. It was as if he could hear his old teachers in his head, basic lessons that were easy to fall back on in times like this, where shock and horror threatened to wipe his mind clean. Tsunagu deftly seized ahold of the girl’s clothes, as worn and frayed as they were, and tugged her back towards him.

One of the villains—because what else could they be—cursed. “Nyx. Top ten.”

“Top five. I need a goddamn raise.”

“What- shoot him, Nyx.”

“I’m not shooting a top fucking five without a contract. That’s basic business.”

“I’m going to fucking kill you—”

“Stand down,” called Tsunagu, although he had a feeling it would be pointless. The girl was safely tucked behind him, now, ferried out of harm’s way as gently as he could manage—and a quick glance out of the corner of his eye confirmed that yes, this was indeed the same girl from the supermarket. Wonderful. “You’re both under arrest.”

Both villains snorted in unison. The taller of the two holstered their gun, lifting their hands in surrender.

“Look. This really isn’t your business.”

Tsunagu resisted the urge to scowl. “I beg to differ.”

“You go sticking your nose into this shit, you’ll lose it.”

“Enlightening.” Tsunagu sighed, tightening his hand towards a fist. “Well, if you’re quite finished—”

The glint of metal sent his weight backwards, threads unspooling at a twitch of his fingers as the knife flickered in that villain’s hand—but a dark shape flickered past his ear, ruffling his hair with its passing before it knocked the knife away with a dull clang.

The villain shook out their hand with a hiss, and their companion made a similar, more guttural sound as she examined the item that had struck them. “Sir Nighteye.”

Her companion just grunted. From behind, Tsunagu heard the muted clatter of shoes on pavement, but he didn’t dare drag his gaze away.

“Nyx—”

“Fuck it. No. I’m not paid enough for this shit.”

And with that, the taller villain grabbed their companion by the back of her shirt, tossed something to the ground, and fled.

Tsunagu leapt forward in pursuit—only to stumble when a blinding flash lit up the street, stabbing starbursts through his eyes and filling his lungs with smoke. Notably, there was no ringing in his ears. No sound as he crashed headfirst into a street pole and scrubbed the sting from behind his eyelids.

When he managed to drag the world back into an admittedly blurry focus, the two villains were gone. Not running, not escaping around a corner—they were gone.

Tsunagu did not curse as he got back to his feet. Such a thing was beneath him. He did, however, allow himself to dwell on a few, choice, scathing observations about both their manners and dress.

He stumbled to his feet, threads already jumping to his call as he considered where they might have gone, before a heavy hand fell on his shoulder and tugged him half a step back.

“They’re long gone.” Sasaki pulled away when Tsunagu whirled around, still wincing at the blistering afterimages. “Hakamada. You will not catch them.”

“Of course.” More pressing matters, anyway. Tsunagu pinched the bridge of his nose as he glanced over Sasaki’s shoulder, towards the crumpled heap on the ground. He stepped past Sasaki with more confidence than before, leaning down to press fingers to the young girl’s neck before drawing back just as quickly with a harsh breath sucked between his teeth.

It was difficult to tell, in the dark, but judging by the odd angle of her neck and the way in which her head… well. The sight twisted in his stomach, and Tsunagu felt he had a pretty good idea of where that bullet had found itself.

Dazedly, he assumed this was why Sasaki had told him to call off the ambulance. Still, he should have called someone. Probably the local precinct, since this was rapidly becoming a crime scene.

God. God, she was… small. Bodies often were, whatever largeness life had lent them squeezed from rigid limbs until all that remained was something limp, almost shriveled with the loss. Like the expectation of a voice, a twitch, any spark of recognition, made its absence all the more palpable.

But still she was small. And if she was indeed the same child from the store, then- well- she was a child, so he supposed that made sense.

Tsunagu might have laughed at that, a rising threat of levity he recognized as hysteria, and was quick to dismiss. Still, it was ridiculous. Sense. As if this were anything less than senseless, a child murdered and dragged across the unforgiving pavement.

His instincts screamed that something here was wrong, that the facts were misaligned, a puzzle piece left out of place. The way she’d looked in that convenience store, harried and distracted. How quickly she had turned to violence, no hesitation as she turned upon her heel to crack a bottle against that man’s skull.

He’d survived, though apparently the injury had been severe. Tsunagu had checked, intent on following up—but past that scrap of information it seemed the man had disappeared as eagerly as the girl herself.

Something was wrong. Of course something was wrong. Tsunagu dragged a hand across his face with a sigh, then knelt down in front of the girl again, careful to avoid looking too long at her face. Some things were too much, even with his admittedly vast experience.

“She’s not dead.” Sasaki’s voice cut through his maudlin thoughts, though it took a moment for Tsunagu to truly comprehend the words.

He paused. Glanced between the corpse, the dark stain beneath, the- he hole in her head, there was really no getting around that detail was there—

Sasaki sighed. When Tsunagu turned, he saw the man tucking his phone away, as if he’d just finished sending off a few texts. “I’m not sure what her quirk is, but it must be some sort of regeneration. She’ll be conscious within a few hours. Give or take.”

“…ah.” That was. Reassuring? In a sense? Tsunagu looked back down at the girl. The thought of life forced back into this body, locked in rictus, was… it left him slightly queasy. “That is. Good to hear.”

“Healing quirks always complicate things,” Sasaki muttered, as if to himself. “I apologize if I caused you any panic. Her future was messy, for reasons I’m sure are obvious.”

“Yes.” Death typically was, wasn’t it. Tsunagu dragged his eyes away from this dead-but-not-dead girl and stood, turning fully towards Sasaki. Behind the glint of his glasses he could catch the faintest flash of purple, fading with his approach.

He had managed to use his quirk, then. Hopefully that made things easier, rather than more difficult. With Foresight it was always a toss-up.

“How far did you look?”

“Through the night, and into early morning,” said Sasaki with a slight frown. “Things start to get unwieldy after that, it’s difficult to pin down specifics.”

When Sasaki did not elaborate, Tsunagu found himself matching that frown. “Well, thank you for the assistance. We should probably… I admit I’m not sure what the best course of action is from here. A hospital might be prudent? Maybe even the station?”

“No.”

Tsunagu paused. Again, Sasaki offered nothing further, and he felt the beginnings of a headache coming on. “No… why?”

“Because that’s not what we do.”

“Sasaki. I respect your insight—”

“Foresight.” The smile Sasaki cracked was not at all reassuring, and Tsunagu bit back a sigh.

“Right. Your foresight, in this situation. But unfortunately some of us must experience time in the usual, linear fashion. And I’m afraid that’s left me a little lost, here.”

Sasaki hummed, though it was clear the man was lost in his own thoughts, unraveling whatever threads his quirk had tangled up in his mind. He had always been a little… difficult, after using his quirk in such a fashion. Like a few seams had come loose, and he required a moment to stitch them back together.

After a moment, Sasaki spoke again. “We should take her back to one of our agencies. Mine has a few interrogation rooms, so that would probably be best.”

“This… isn’t really an arrest. We should go through the proper channels.” Even as he said it, he knew the weakness in his tone, thin strands easily snapped by the sheer oddity of the situation.

As it was, Sasaki didn’t even have to say anything. The look he shot over his glasses was more than enough to communicate what he thought of that sentiment. “My car’s around the corner. Will you help me carry her?”

“I…” Tsunagu sighed, an occurrence he was sure would only become more frequent as the night dragged on. “This is the best course of action, then.”

“This is the only course of action.”

“Very well.” At least his quirk would make the process a little less… messy, as macabre as the thought might have been. “You know what happens next, then?”

Sasaki hummed noncommittally, brow furrowed as he watched Tsunagu gather up some spare fibers to wrap around the poor girl.

“Honestly, there isn’t much to go off of. We take her to my agency, we sit her down in one of the rooms… the three of us have a conversation, but it’s difficult to tell what anyone is actually saying.” He paused, a weariness seeping through his tone. “I think that things do become… more than a little frustrating.”

Well. That wasn’t reassuring.

“What is your name?”

“I go by Nunya.”

Nighteye sighed. “I’ve heard that one before.”

“I haven’t,” offered Jeanist, and Era’s grin widened to something feral.

“Nunya business—”

“Okay. That’s enough.” Another sigh from Nighteye, and Era really should have started keeping score. At least it would be a good distraction from the mess she’d somehow landed herself in.

She tested the cuffs again, easing them away from the table before letting them fall with a sigh. They were of good make, unfortunately. Sturdy.

If she’d kept her fucking cool when she’d first woken up, maybe her predicament wouldn’t be so dire. She’d just… the cool press of a gun chased her from the shadows, and startling awake in a strange room with a metal chair at her back drove panic through her skull as readily as any bullet, scrambling away from again, bird and the subtle poison of the dark—

She’d ran. Stupid, useless, weak, because there had never been a point and still she’d always run.

Just as well that Best Jeanist dragged her back. It wasn’t as if she’d actually had a plan.

“Can you at least give us something to call you?” Jeanist was leaning back against a wall, posture loose and open. Era eyed him coolly before her gaze flicked back to where Nighteye stood, arms crossed.

Good cop, bad cop. Insultingly simple.

Still, Era forced her grin to sharpen. “Yeah. Yeah, you can call me—”

“Not a childish insult this time, please.” Nighteye raised a brow, clearly unimpressed. “If you’re going to make a joke, at least pick a funny one.”

Era allowed her lip to twist into a scowl. “Oh, I’m sorry. Why don’t you just look into the future, then. Pick out the highlights.”

“Unfortunately, your immediate future is rather unremarkable. It mainly consists of you, stuck in a chair, doing nothing.”

“Well, that is unfortunate.”

“This is going nowhere.” Jeanist pushed himself upright, examining his hand as he took a step away from the wall.

Finally. Era bit back the shock of nausea, no fear sharpening her grin. “Oh, are we getting serious, now?”

Jeanist blinked at her with the slightest furrow in his brow. “This is already serious. Do you understand that?”

Maybe not, then? Era let the tension fall from her shoulders and rolled her eyes. “This is an average Tuesday night.”

“It’s Thursday,” said Nighteye dryly.

“It’s- that doesn’t matter.”

“Did you forget what day it is?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Because,” continued Nighteye resolutely, “that is more than a little concerning.”

“Whatever. Think what you want—I don’t give a shit.”

“Gladly.” Nighteye straightened as well, and it was a struggle to keep her hands loose, shoulders back and relaxed, jaw unclenched. “Here’s what I think. You’re tangled up in something very dangerous.”

“Astute.”

“And now, you don’t know how to untangle yourself. Correct?”

Era scowled. “Wow. Give the man an award. What, did the fucking goons not give that away? The bleeding out in an alley?”

“You don’t think we can help you,” murmured Jeanist, as if this were some sort of revelation. Era scoffed.

“I know you can’t help me. But I also know I can’t convince you not to make things worse, so. Seems like we’re at an impasse.”

Jeanist huffed. “Worse? The situation seems pretty dire as is.”

“I had it handled.”

“You were unconscious. Bleeding out in an alley, as you’ve already said.”

“I had- I wasn’t- fuck off.”

“Ah, of course. That is the argument of someone in the right.”

“I don’t need to be in the right. I need to be moving. Which, uh—” Era pointedly wiggled her fingers, tugging against the cuffs “—not exactly helping on that front.”

“Running hasn’t helped you so far,” Nighteye said pointedly, and ouch. That one stung.

“You don’t know me,” she settled on, stiff-backed. “You don’t know my options. Don’t assume.”

“Why don’t you enlighten us, then?” Best Jeanist sat in one of the chairs with a sigh. “Unless you believe that will make things worse as well?”

“It will. Just in different ways.”

“Quite the predicament.” She could have sworn she caught Nighteye roll his eyes. “Seems like you lose nothing in telling us, then. If you’re just swapping out one problem for another.”

That… was almost a fair point. Still, Era felt her lip curl, because, “I don’t owe anything to you. What, you think I’ll spill my guts to you, just because you’re a couple of heroes?”

“It would be rather foolish to think that, given that you’ve made your opinion on heroics quite clear.” Jeanist leaned forward in his chair with a thoughtful hum. Watch the hands. She couldn’t let him catch her off-guard. “Know that I’m saying this not as a hero, then, but as a simple bystander. Whatever it is you face, you cannot do so alone.”

Era narrowed her eyes, nails digging into her palms. “You don’t know me.”

“No. But I know your kind. Too stubborn to seek help, too fearful to find shelter—”

“I am not,” Era nearly hissed, “afraid.”

Jeanist paused. Watched, as Era simmered in silence, choking on her anger, on the memory of fingers curled around her throat, no fear, bird, twisting through her skull. When he spoke again, it was soft. Quiet. Too gentle not to hide a barb.

“Maybe. Maybe not. But you are desperate. I find desperate people find themselves doing things that are quite, quite foolish, don’t you? I’m sure the window looks tempting when the house is burning down around you.”

“I will do what is necessary. Nothing more, nothing less.”

“Necessity is an easy excuse. Removes the need for choice.”

My fault. Era sneered, snarled, swore in garbled sounds that might have been words. You make the pain stop, bird.

At last, voice quavering with the force of her anger, she managed a bitter, “Fuck you.”

Jeanist took another moment. His scrutiny was hot against the tension of her shoulders, the splintered remains of her mask.

“I’m sorry,” he said at last, and Era barely kept her shoulders from hunching. “Someone has clearly failed you quite utterly, if this is your reaction to a helping hand.”

Yes. Yes, someone had failed, but as with everything in her life she only had herself to blame. There had never been anyone else. A hero couldn’t understand that.

Best Jeanist foolishly took her silence as an invitation to continue. “We want to help you. But you already know that, and you find even the idea of accepting distasteful. So instead, all I’m asking is that you tell me what it would take. What would we have to do, for you to let us help you? How can we prove that we are capable of it? That it is worth accepting?”

Era blinked. Dragged her gaze up to meet his, and sought for the lie, the play, the knife in the dark—but there was nothing but an open honesty that twisted in her gut.

“There…” she spoke slowly, considering the weight of her words before she let them fall, because if this was a trick then she needed to be ready for it, needed to watch the hands, bird, to keep her balance even when her feet were tugged from under her. “There is nothing you could do that would… I don’t need your help. Or- there’s nothing to be done. It’s…”

Can’t change what you are, bird. Settling in the space between her bones. A certainty that stalked her as surely as her friends from Phoenix.

“Hm. I suppose it was foolish of me to even ask. Actions, words, etcetera.” Best Jeanist leaned back with a quiet sigh, and a flash of movement over the table had Era reeling back, shoulders tense and tight against the back of her chair because she had lost the hands, stupid stupid stupid little bird—

Jeanist stilled. His hand paused, halfway across the little table, and it was as if he was granting Era a moment to examine it.

Clutched loosely in his outstretched fingers was a foil-wrapped bar. Era blinked, eyes darting between the hand and the face, all the while struggling to wrestle herself back under some semblance of control.

“You are probably hungry.” Jeanist spoke slowly, deliberately, watching her as carefully as she did him. “Would you like something to eat?”

A trick, most certainly. A ploy to reveal some deep-set weakness in her already crumbling defense. Era felt a growl rumble in her throat, even as her stomach clenched painfully at the thought of food.

“It’s an energy bar. I keep them on hand, in case patrols go a little too long.” Words, words, words, meaningless prattle meant to soothe her nerves—was it poisoned? No, no, they knew her quirk, should know the futility of such a thing—unless they’d secured something more potent?

“If you don’t like this flavor, I’m sure we can find you something else—but you need to eat.”

Era’s finger tapped a restless rhythm against the table before she forced it still. A quirk, maybe? Something that would take hold when ingested, something- compulsion, maybe, a truth serum of some kind, she knew such things existed though she’d never encountered them herself—

With a low grumble, Sir Nighteye reached forward to pluck the bar from Best Jeanist’s hand, and while the urge to finch away was painful Era managed to keep herself steady, still.

She watched as he waved the bar meaningfully before himself, then pointedly unwrapped it and took a bite.

Era blinked. It proved nothing, of course. Poison could still… no, no, anything potent enough to affect her would likely seep into the whole bar, and- and a quirk, even, it was just- the bar was too small to contain anything hidden, anything easily avoided, and Nighteye hadn’t even hesitated—

He was holding it out once more. A weariness behind his gaze that Era felt furrowing her own brow.

Fuck it. Fuck it, she- she was so hungry. Call that weakness—and Sensei certainly would, steel-shod boots harsh against the concrete, but- but she could not run if she could not stand. And running was essential.

Era snatched the bar from his hand before he could rethink the offering. She ate it so quickly that she could not even taste it—better to get things over with, if it really was some hidden poison.

And she waited. Eyes darting between the two of them, searching for the tell, the twitch of the mouth or slant of the brow that would betray their true intention—but there was nothing, save perhaps a slump in Jeanist’s shoulders that might have been simple weariness.

The food settled, warm, in her stomach. Era was still dreadfully hungry, but at least her insides no longer felt as though they were cannibalizing themselves.

“What did you think…” began Jeanist at last, before cutting himself off with a sigh. “It doesn’t matter. Thank you for eating.”

They seemed… genuine, at the very least. Still heroes, still useless, liars that could not be trusted—but Best Jeanist was a top five pro, and Sir Nighteye was renowned within his field. The thought left bile at the back of her throat, but her options were rapidly dwindling. If she could work this right, lay the groundwork, maybe she could use them to her advantage…

Heroes lie. Always, always. To think otherwise was the worst kind of weakness.

But if they did want to help, in the foolish manner of heroes, then that at least was something she could press.

So Era drew a mask across her face, tight. Smiled, and was pleased to find it did not splinter.

“Thank you for the food,” she said, as warmly as she could muster. Best Jeanist examined her with an odd expression, but she did not allow herself to wilt beneath the scrutiny.

“You’re very welcome,” he said. Almost like he meant it. “Is there anything else we can help you with?”

Careful, but Era did not need Sensei’s voice hissing in her ear to know that. “Well, um. I guess I might be in a little bit of trouble?”

Sir Nighteye snorted, but Best Jeanist’s face remained inscrutable. “Maybe if you tell us what’s wrong, we can figure something out.”

Unlikely. Era let her wince peek through. “I- I don’t know. I’m not really…” She screwed up her face, tugged at her hands, let her shoulders hunch up towards her ears.

“It’s alright. Maybe we should return to this in the morning, then. I assume you don’t have a safe place to sleep?”

Era nodded, and that, at least, was truth. Her old hideout had been proven unsafe now that Phoenix had managed to track her down.

“We’ll arrange something, then.” Jeanist shared a glance with Nighteye, then turned back to her. “Do you mind waiting here for a moment? I think we have a couple items to discuss, then we can find you a nice room so you can rest.”

Era forced herself to consider that for a moment, as if uncertain whether or not she wanted them to leave—then dipped her head into a nod.

The two heroes filed out of the room. There was no one-way mirror, and she hadn’t spotted any cameras—though she was sure there was one, hidden in some corner. Either way she hoped that they were actually going to discuss something, perhaps going over whatever they thought they might have gleaned from that inane conversation.

Era laid her head on her hands, as if resting. Slowly, subtly, she drew a lockpick from her hair and began to fiddle with the cuffs.

A soft click ran through her skull, and she allowed herself a smile.